


Winter War

by incandescens, liralenli, Sophia_Prester



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-04-15
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 50
Words: 238,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescens/pseuds/incandescens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/liralenli/pseuds/liralenli, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Prester/pseuds/Sophia_Prester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a very dark (we're not kidding!) Bleach AU written by incandescens, sophia_prester, and liralenli. It diverges from canon, mostly after Ichigo's party departs for Hueco Mondo.</p>
<p>  <b>Aizen has won. Seireitai is occupied. The Resistance is weak. Winter is here.</b><br/><b>There may not be a spring.</b><br/><b>  <i>Nothing is sacred and no one is safe. </i></b></p>
<p> -----<br/>There is <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/WinterWar">a TV Tropes page for this fic.</a><br/>Excellent. The Russian translations of this work is now linked to this fic, thank you, Seidhe and answeraquestion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nanao: Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Зимняя Война](https://archiveofourown.org/works/942037) by [Seidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seidhe/pseuds/Seidhe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part -- by Incandescens

The ice in the puddles was dirty and crazed with fractures. There were no flowers, and it was too foul to try looking for any lunar reflections.

Karakura itself was full of dusty shadows these days. Nanao was one of them.

She couldn't risk being here for too long: Aizen had his minions making regular sweeps through the town, in the hope of picking up one of the surviving shinigami. Urahara managed to keep his base hidden, but she was too far away from that to take cover there. She had to be in and out to make the pickup before five o'clock.

It would have been easier in some ways for a weaker shinigami to come: there would have been less chance of their reiatsu being noticed. But Soi Fong had insisted on a more senior representative of the Resistance, and Soi Fong's temper was . . . touchy, these days.

Nanao paused beneath a sycamore tree, and sniffed the wind. It smelt of human things, petty spirits, and dust. No Espada here for the moment. None of the _other_ creatures who served Aizen, either.

This was the third time they'd passed information in this way, which probably meant that they were becoming too repetitive. Aizen was very good at spotting patterns. They'd lost other couriers that way.

A blur of reiatsu buzzed somewhere above her for a moment before falling silent again, breaking off as if it had never been there; sharp, acid, the smell of hives run dry of honey and full of anger.

Nanao unveiled her own reiatsu for a moment, letting it show before damping it down once again.

Silence, then a hiss from the branches of the tree under which she stood. "Up here."

Nanao looked up. Soi Fong was perched in the branches above her, robes swaying among the dappled skeletons of dead leaves. Her braids swung like snakes, and her eyes were as barren as winter.

"Captain," she said, flash stepping up to join the other woman.

Soi Fong nodded. "Ise-fukutaichou. All holds well?"

"As well as we can hope for," she answered. "No new attacks. Our position seems secure. We'll move within the fortnight for safety's sake, but they seem to have lost track of us."

Soi Fong nodded remotely. She would know the protocols, of course; they were meat and drink to Covert Operations. "We do well enough," she said. "A few raids, a few successes, but no Espada and none of the betrayer's pets. Yoruichi-sama is currently watching a possible base that Kurotsuchi has been setting up for his perverted experiments. We intend to make it cost more than he can afford."

Nanao nodded. She knew that her own expression would show her feelings, however hard and bleak she tried to keep her face. Kurotsuchi's betrayal had come at a crucial moment in the war; what he had done to Ukitake-taichou still could not be repaired, whatever Isane-fukutaichou tried. "Good luck," she said. She removed a packet from inside her robe. "Here are the latest dispatches from Ukitake-taichou and Sasakibe-fukutaichou."

Soi Fong nodded, offering a similar packet in exchange. "And here, from Yoruichi-sama."

"It would have been easier to exchange these via Urahara Kisuke," Nanao offered.

Soi Fong shook her head. Her braids swung once before coming to a standstill. "Yoruichi-sama says we can't risk too much traffic to his base. It'd be too easy for Aizen to spot the pattern. He wouldn't even have to know exactly where it was: if he had an idea of the district that it was in, he could send in enough of his minions to break down the area and search the ashes."

Nanao nodded, accepting it. She could feel time like a knife at her neck, growing dangerously short. "Do you have any messages for any of the others?"

Soi Fong's shoulders slackened a little, and for a moment Nanao remembered that the other woman was a fraction shorter than she was. "Yoruichi-sama sends her affectionate regards to Kuukaku-sama. As for me?" She shrugged. "Everything that is important is in that dispatch."

Nanao bowed her head. There was nothing that she could answer to that. "Go well, Captain. Good hunting."

"Guard yourselves," Soi Fong said. Nothing more than that: a moment later her reiatsu buzzed in a flicker of movement, and she was gone.

Nanao stood among the branches, waiting till she was sure that the expenditure of reiatsu had gone unnoticed. She told over the last few months to herself like tarnished coins as she waited.

Betrayals. Deaths. Losses.

And one loss, one huge loss that she still could not entirely believe, that still ached like a wound, that she would never see her Captain again this side of life or death . . .

No. There was no time for that. If he could have asked anything of her, she thought that he would have asked her to do her duty to everything that he had cared for. Everyone who he had loved.

Her eyes dry in the bitter wind, she slipped down from the tree to rush across the dying town and make her way home again. Back to duty. Back to the war.

_TBC_


	2. Ukitake: Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ukitake wakes up to the hard consequences of the lost Winter War.

Jyuushiro slowly came to consciousness. His chest ached, his throat burned, his head hurt, his diaphragm was so sore each breath was an effort, and he couldn't think. Whether it was lack of oxygen or drug dosages gone wrong was impossible for him to guess.

Automatically, he sent out his reiatsu, looking for that relaxed, solid presence, that person who was always with him. He was supposed to die first, the other was supposed to be somewhere. But he found nothing.

The painkillers made it easy to pull oblivion back over his head.

When he woke, he sought the other out again, and when he felt nothing, he went back to sleep, for there was no reason to wake up ever again, if that one had gone.

He lost track of how many times he bobbed on the surface of living again. When he sent out the pulse, there were smaller beings, none as bright as the one he looked for, around him, muttering, but they were not the one... his mind shied away from the specifics. But as he drifted back into sleep he heard the other people's voices.

"Why is he doing that?"

"I... I have no idea."

"He's going to bring Gin right down on top of us, with flashes of power like that. We don't have many other places to move him."

"Fuck if I know."

"Can we block him? Or drug him so he doesn't come up and do that when we know they're searching?"

"He's... he's too far... far gone. I'm afraid... if we do any more... he'll..."

"And we need him," said Ise-kun, crisp and as hard as frost.

 _Sensible... just what Shunsui needed... after Lisa,_ thought Jyuushiro, even muzzed with sleep and drugs. Oh. Ise-kun... where she walks so goes...

Jyuushiro tried to take a breath, tried to fight the drugs this time. He took a slow breath and heard some mechanism breathe with him. A tube was down his throat, and when he tried to lift a hand, it was restrained, tied down.

A silver form rose in the depths of his mind. _Jyuushiro?_

_Sōgyo no Kotowari. Where is Katen Kyōkotsu?_

There was a pause. _I do not know._ The anguish behind those words was so deep, Jyuushiro started to pull the blackness back over himself again.

 _No. Come back. Please._ The unaccustomed note of pleading in the sound of his zanpakutou's thoughts made Jyuushiro pause, and suddenly he felt the cool touch of the fingers of his zanpakutou's spirit against his cheek. Surprised that the spirit had manifested without his will behind it, Jyuushiro turned his cheek into the touch.

The voices that had been speaking of him suddenly rose in surprise, consternation, and Jyuushiro realized that they could see the spirit of his blade. Muzzily he wondered if that had ever happened before...

Sōgyo no Kotowari's deep voice said clearly, "He's trying to find Kyouraku-taichou. When he does not find him, the drugs are making it too easy for him to turn his face to the wall."

There was the deep sting of a big needle pulled from his arm, and more protests, but Jyuushiro felt firm fingers press deeply against his vein. It amused him that his zanpakutou, built for killing, knew so much about hospital procedure, and he felt a trickle of that amusement feedback through their connection.

"No more drugging him. If you want him to fight, he must have all his mind."

"But... he... he shouldn't be fighting... he can't... can't even breathe. You can't be... serious about... risking him when he's... he's the only one left... and so frail..."

"He will die if he has no one to protect, no one to fight for."

There was more soft protest, a half a sob, and then voices muttered together.

Then crisp and clear, Ise-kun's voice said, "Ukitake-taichou, I am reporting for duty, sir. I need my orders. I need to report." Then the cold ice of her voice cracked. "I need a Captain, sir."

Jyuushiro struggled to open his eyes. The tears that now flowed helped unglue his lashes, and he blinked sandy, encrusted eyes gradually open. He fought now to focus and when he did, he met Ise-kun's tear-stained gaze directly. Her slender fingers touched his, and he tried his best to close his grip on her hand. The corner of her lip trembled and then drew up and firmed.

He sighed around the intrusion of the tubes, heard the equipment sigh with him.

"Good," said Sōgyo no Kotowari, and then disappeared amid the babbling of those in the room.

* * *

There were times when Jyuushiro desperately wished Sōgyo no Kotowari would manifest again; but the Captain was not nearly strong enough to make his zanpakutou manifest against its will. In Jyuushiro's inner world, his spirit only said that it was no longer his place to speak for Jyuushiro; and Jyuushiro, thinking through all that the spirit might say, got to work on figuring out ways to communicate for himself.

When the drugs wore off, his body was so weak he could just barely lift his hand and arm. After doing it himself enough times to make Isane mad at him, she finally gave him physical therapy, to strengthen his arm and hand enough that he could take a pen in hand and write some of his thoughts and questions for others to read.

The first thing he scrawled was: "Ise-kun, report."

There were advantages to not being able to speak while subordinates reported, Jyuushiro found: they often told far more into silence then they would to a directed line of questioning.

It wasn't good. Nearly none of it was good.

Shunsui was, indeed, gone. No body had been found, and since Ise-kun had not been on the battlefield to see him fall, they grieved together over not even having the closure of being able to bury the big man. She, instead, had had to deal with the attack in Soul Society when the model Karakura had fallen.

 _I was supposed to die before him. I wanted to die on the line, not like this..._ Jyuushiro wrote in a spat of self-pity.

Ise-kun shook her head and looked into Jyuushiro's eyes. "That's selfish, Ukitake-taichou. Then, either I'd be left without your expertise and mourning both of you, or you would have just left him hurting as much as you are now?"

_But he knew..._

"That wouldn't have made it hurt any less."

Silenced by that truth, Jyuushiro simply bowed his head. They moved on and brought in Isane and others that had fought in the faked Karakura.

Jyuushiro remembered the flaring fall of Genryuusai-soutaichou, while in the midst of his own desperate fight with Mayuri. The lung agent Mayuri had used on him had, according to Isane, dissolved a good deal of his lung tissue. Luckily, or unluckily, a good deal of the dissolved tissue was already dead from his tuberculosis; but the remaining damage had reduced his lung capacity well below what was considered 'functional' levels.

Isane had managed to stop the bleeding in his lungs, but they still regularly filled with fluid. So they had installed one-way shunts in each lung, and had propped him up to allow the fluid to drain between breaths. They had him on nearly pure oxygen as well as more anti-inflammatory drugs than he could track.

He remembered the desperation of holding the line with his Division when that gas had hit. He'd struck with all his strength, water to clear the air, lightning strikes falling on the giant thing Mayuri had made of his zanpakutou. In the end he'd gone hand to hand, and seen Mayuri dissolve into green goo before he'd fallen as well.

The whole line had fallen. Not when he had, the Thirds had kept some order until Sentarou had been struck down. Kiyone hadn't been found, but they'd been so much stronger together than apart, each urging the other onto greater capabilities, that Jyuushiro didn't hope for much. After all this, it was probably better to be dead than captured. They'd passed command down properly, but when the squad leaders had fallen as well, there was little coordination left.

Others had fallen as well. Jyuushiro and Soi Fong were the only Captains left of the Gotei 13. Soi Fong, now freed of the whole of the command structure, had decided to join Yoruichi and Urahara in the living world. The two renegades had had more resources and goals that fitted the ex-Special Forces captain far better than the running remains of the Gotei 13 left in Soul Society. He couldn't blame her.

No one from the Hueco Mundo excursion had returned. No one was quite sure what had happened to them.

The Vice Captains that were left filled in as they could, and some were badly injured, others were simply missing.

One desertion in particular struck Jyuushiro deeply and hard. Hisagi Shuuhei was last seen free, among Aizen and his people. The only conclusion anyone could come up with was that the young fukutaichou had turned traitor as well, following his former Captain with all the news and plans they had made.

Sasakibe Choujirou slipped into place, directing much of the remaining forces' daily activities. Quiet and solid, he simply did what was necessary to keep order and allow some measure of stability to form amid those left. Ise-kun did her level best to work directly as Jyuushiro's Vice Captain, working out orders with the others and doing the more active duties of surveillance and gathering data about their enemies.

Jyuushiro spent several days listening.

After each session, Sōgyo no Kotowari would meet with Jyuushiro in his inner world, where he was free to walk and speak easily with his zanpakutou spirit, and they would discuss the longer-term strategic uses for what they'd heard.

From that Jyuushiro had been able to give Ise-kun some advice on how to deal with their concealment, how to keep what was left of the Gotei 13 intact, and how to coordinate missions to learn what their enemies were doing.

They'd had to move twice, due to indications that Aizen's people had found their base.

After the second move, Jyuushiro asked Isane to give him physical therapy to help him regain at least enough muscle strength to go use the toilet himself. While Jyuushiro could endure the indignities of hospital life, the moves taught him that if he was entirely immobile, the amount of manpower needed to bring along everything he depended was horrific. And along those same lines, he insisted that they at least attempt to remove the feeding and drinking tubes and go to an oxygen apparatus that was more portable.

That had hurt.

For days after, Jyuushiro awoke feeling like he was drowning, only to realize that, somehow the oxygen clip had slipped from his nose, or one nostril had stuffed up, or he simply wasn't getting enough air. He grew into the habit of just taking three, long, slow, breaths, as deeply as he was able, to calm his heart as much as to get as much air as he could. The panic attacks were worse than the lack of oxygen itself, and on top of that was the cold, hard realization that Shunsui would never hold him, never comfort him through his attacks again.

After enough of those nights, Jyuushiro asked for drugs just for those eight hours, and Isane gave them to him without question.

Jyuushiro's throat had been damaged by the gasses, as well as irritated by the long insertion of the tubes themselves, and even with them out he wasn't able to do much more than croak. But actually being able to taste that first bowl of rice gruel with a little green tea powder sprinkled on top was well worth how much it hurt to swallow.

He took to practicing making noises with his throat and mouth when he was by himself, not wanting to distress or discomfort those about him. He hummed to himself sometimes, when he was busy working on the orders for the day or writing reports for Soi Fong. He started being able to make encouraging noises when people were talking to him.

Then came the day when the details of Soi Fong's reports, scouts reporting more enemy attempts to find their headquarters, and one of the Vizards' reports on an increase in activity, energy use, and dispatches to and from Hueco Mundo, all arrived at once. Everyone gathered in Jyuushiro's room, to discuss what was happening.

Jyuushiro listened for the whole two hours, simply letting the conversation flow around him, washing about him like a sea of information. Then, as in all conversations, there came an ebb in the flow, a moment of utter silence as everyone thought a moment about what to do next, to say next.

Jyuushiro took that moment, and in a voice now scarred to permanent harshness, he said, "We must know what Aizen is doing. He cannot be allowed to finish."


	3. Ikkaku: What Is, What Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot has changed since the war--including Ikkaku. -- this chapter by SophiaP

The tavern was infested with bandits. Again.

"And so he goes back to the same place, and once again there's the _same damn boar_..."

Kouta could remember a time when bandits never disturbed his business. It was only three months ago, but it felt more like thirty years.

"So the guy shoots _another_ arrow, and he misses _again_..."

Twelve of them, this time. Dangerous drunks, with enough alcohol in them to kick any inhibition straight out the door, but not so much that they were falling down. They were loud. They were quick to take insult, quicker to throw a punch, and their bald bastard of a leader was holding court in the center of the room like he knew no one was going to do a damned thing about it.

The bald guy's hands cut through the air, making unmistakeable gestures as he worked his way through an amazingly filthy joke.

"...an' this time, the boar taps the guy on the shoulder and says... _heheh_... he says, 'You ain't really coming here to _hunt_ , are ya?'"

He roared with laughter at his own joke, and all of his friends followed suit. So did a few of the patrons. The owner's wife and the staff laughed nervously, because they'd had enough broken crockery already.

As for Kouta, he quickly turned a genuine belly laugh into a polite cough. Well, it _was_ a funny joke. It just...

It just wasn't the sort of joke he was used to hearing here. Used to be, when people got drunk--never too drunk, not here--they'd start telling jokes. Slightly lewd jokes, yes, but it was the kind of lewd where you had to put two and two together to get the joke. Also, the jokes were all as familiar comfortable as old sandals.

Kouta missed his regulars. He especially missed the ones he knew could never come back.

He spared a quick glance over his shoulder, and thought about going back to check on his son, but there was no way he was going to leave his wife and the girl alone with--

"Oi! Who do I hafta beat up to get another drink?" Another of the bandits, this one a young man with floppy black hair and a spray of tattoos down the side of his face held up an empty shochu jug. Before anyone had a chance to answer, the jug exploded against the wall, right next to Michiko's head. If he'd been sober enough to aim properly, it would have hit her in the face. She shrieked and hunkered down to avoid another attack, covering her face with her serving tray. Then, as pottery shards pelted down on her head, she screamed as if they had set her on fire.

The bandits, of course, thought this was hilarious. Some of them crowed with laughter. A few brayed. One hooted like a rabid monkey.

The bald guy--the one who'd pulled down the tavern's noren when he arrived, kicking mud off his feet and swaggering into the place like he owned it--goaded them on, elbowing one of his companions when it didn't look like he was laughing hard enough. The young man blinked in confusion, then joined his compatriots.

Yuina looked at him, pleading without words, but Kouta had no idea what his wife expected him to do. This was the the twenty-third district of East Rukongai. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen here. Or if it did, there would be someone around to take care of it.

Now, though, more and more bandits were coming through. Ever since winter began. This stupid, endless winter, still sitting on them weeks after the first flowers should have bloomed.

At least _this_ group hadn't hurt anyone, Kouta thought, forcing himself not to look back over his shoulder. That said, it was probably only a matter of time before something happened. They'd gone through enough drink to knock each of them out three times over, but all it did was make them louder. It also resulted in more broken crockery. Yuina's cherished set of antique sake cups had been used as something like darts earlier in the evening.

It was only sheer luck that no one had lost an eye or been concussed. Part of that may have been that most of the usual crowd had already cleared out before the bandits' arrival. The ones who were still there had arrived after the previous party had left and were probably only staying because the bandits were between them and the door.

Kouta cleared his throat. Nothing happened.

Well, the bandits' leader seemed to focus his attention on him. His eyes narrowed a little, and the patches of red at their corners stood out sharp as new-spilled blood.

When Kouta stepped back with deliberate meekness, the leader tossed his hands in the air in disgust. As if on cue, more crockery took to the air. And shortly thereafter, took to the ground.

"Please..." His attempt to project his voice came out as a squeak.

"Hey--he's trying to say something." This was from the young man who'd needed to be encouraged to laugh. He pulled tentatively at the leader's sleeve and nodded towards Kouta.

"What the hell d'ya want?" the man slurred before letting out a belch. While he hadn't seemed impaired before, it was as if the alcohol he'd consumed had been lying in wait and had suddenly decided to gang up on him. "We're jes' havin' some fun, hey?"

"I... um... I think, that is... maybe you've had enough?" Kouta held his hands up in a gesture of conciliation that could also be read as 'please don't hit me.'

"We don't want any..." he licked his lips, looked around nervously. Yuina and Michiko were safely behind the counter, for all the good that would do them. "Any more trouble. There were some shinigami who were just here, and they left town maybe half an hour before you showed up..."

The veiled warning didn't seem to worry the bandits, but it did get their attention. In fact, it got the kind of attention a roast pig might get from a crowd of starving men.

"Really. Shinigami? And you say they _just_ left?" This came from one of the other bandits, a thin, graying man with a convincingly aristocratic drawl. "Pity."

"They were probably scared when they heard we were coming?" This bandit had a scraggly moustache, and sounded strangely nervous for someone who'd been threatening would-be customers a few minutes ago. Like the thin would-be aristocrat, he wore the remains of a shinigami uniform.

More and more, it seemed that their former protectors were taking up a new profession. Or at least giving up the pretense that they were doing their old one.

The bald man slammed back a cup of shochu, spilling most of it in the process.

"Fuckin' shingami." He looked around at his crew. "We don't like shinigami, do we, boys?"

The boys--two of whom appeared to be women--greeted this with a hearty _fuck no!_.

"But some of you used to--" He shut his mouth quickly, knocking his teeth together.

" _Used_ to, yeah." The bald man leaned forward over his cup, hands curled around it a little too tightly. The hem of a black gi could just be seen between the edge of his jacket and the ridiculous orange scarf around his neck. "Used to be a lot of things. But that outfit back there?"

Here he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, no doubt meaning to point towards Seireitei, but instead indicating the general direction of South Rukongai.

"Don't want no part of them no more." He lifted his cup again, but on finding it empty, simply dropped it on the floor. It didn't break. "We're gone. Outta here. C'mon, you idiots--les' go find ourselves a fight! Yeah!" He even jammed his fist up in the air.

The group of them charge-stumbled to the door, the leader and one other hung back. The bald man once again seemed unaccountably sober. His companion--a young man with a girlish face and dark, spiky hair that looked as if it had been barbered with a hunting knife, or possibly a blowtorch--looked around as if assessing the damage.

"You didn't happen to see which way these shinigami went, did you?" the bald man asked. For all that he'd been slurring his words to the point of being incomprehensible just a few minutes ago, he spoke clearly enough now.

"Um... north?"

"North." The man and boy exchanged looks, then turned their attention back to Kouta. "You sure about that?"

"The only road out of town runs north-south. It's eight miles to the next crossroads."

"Unless they cut through the forest," the boy said, making it almost a question.

"Go on, Peaches. Find Newbie and tell him to find 'em and stalk 'em, see if he can hear anything."

" _See_ if he can hear anything?" 'Peaches,' or whatever his real name was, smirked.

The leader lifted a hand as if to smack the kid, but that only got a broader smile and a jutted chin by way of a silent _I dare you_. "Shut up. You know what I mean. I also want you to grab Four-eyes and the brat, and I want you and them to flash up thataway fast as you can," he said, pointing northwards, "just in case. Keep an eye on things, don't get yourselves seen unless you hafta stall 'em, and _don't_ start anything 'til I get there, a'right?"

"Yessir."

"And for the last time stop it with that 'sir' bullcrap!" he called out, but the boy was gone, gone so fast that Kouta didn't even see him leave.

"I don't want to miss a good fight," he said, as if Kouta gave a single solitary damn about what some bandit wanted or why. "And speaking of good fights, were those yahoos after some Hollows, or what?"

"Who knows?" The words were out before Kouta could stop himself. And once out, he couldn't hold back the anger. "We sent word to Seireitei weeks ago that we were attacked by a Hollow, and we get nothing. Nothing! If it weren't for some mercenaries, we'd be dead. And now, those so-called shinigami come through here..." He spared a glance to the back room, where his son lay unconscious with no sign of waking.

The bandits, at least, hadn't had a chance to hurt anyone.

"They went north," he said, with no sense of guilt at all. The shinigami and the bandits could all just wipe each other out and the world would probably be the better for it. "And they'll give you a fight if you want one. They were bragging about it. Bragging about being Eleventh Division--I don't know if you know what that mean, but..."

"Yeah." There was a look in the man's eyes that Kouta didn't even want to describe. "I know what that means."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but between one breath and the next, he was gone, leaving Kouta to clean up the mess.

* * *

"Okay you bastards, what do we got?" Ikkaku caught up with the rest of his group about a mile out of town. He'd probably used shunpo more in the past three months than he had while in Zaraki's division. It still felt like cheating, though. "Anything good, or you been wasting your time primping and preening?"

This last was just a cheap shot at Ogidou and Hoshibana, and wasn't entirely fair. It wasn't their fault that they kept themselves presentable enough and knew enough useless formal crap to run jobs in the few civilized towns they passed through. Still, if Ikkaku didn't give them crap, they'd wonder what was wrong.

It didn't quite work. Instead of raising an eyebrow or treating Ikkaku to a polite sneer, Hoshibana gave him a considering look. Ogidou, on the other hand, turned on his best 'do you want to talk about it?' expression. Ikkaku ignored them and instead plowed through to the front of the group to find someone who'd actually tell him what he needed to know.

That someone was Maki-Maki. He and the others who'd come from Zaraki's division were leading the group, as usual.

"Any idea if the shinigami are after the same thing _we're_ after?"

Two days before they'd gotten official word that some weird shit had gone down in this part of Rukongai, Peaches and Hoshibana had flipped their shit about a big reiatsu flare and said they should go see what the fuck was going on. Not in those words, exactly, though. Hoshibana wouldn't cuss even if he was on fire, and Peaches wasn't much better.

"I think so?" Maki-Maki always sounded doubtful, even when he was a hundred percent sure of something. He pointed to the northeast. "Shirogane-san came back, and said it looked as if the shinigami--um, there are six of them, she said to make sure to tell you that--were cutting across farmland to get to the woods. It's in the right direction. She said the others were going to go up the riverbed--it's dry, mostly--and try to cut them off before they got too far. She went to catch up with them. Looks like the shinigami _aren't_ flash-stepping. She said it looks like they're looking for something. Fanned out, poking in bushes, that kind of thing."

Right. The question was, did those bums know what they were looking for? Given the timing of when the shinigami supposedly left Seireitei and when his own kidou experts had sensed the anomaly, someone in what called itself the Gotei 13 had gotten word of the energy flare from somewhere other than the field.

And, if they had started searching this far away from where Peaches said the flare came from, they were expecting whatever it was to be on the move.

"Let's hope they don't start searching the riverbed just yet." He looked over that way. There was enough tall grass and bramble that you wouldn't see the gully unless you were about to fall in it. Still, taking the low ground was a good way to get yourself ambushed. Peaches should have known better, and so should the brat. At least there was no sign of smoke or fire; he counted that as a big plus. "What about Newbie?"

"Takano-san is tailing them, just like you asked. Oh--he wanted to know if he should take a prisoner."

"What'd you tell him?"

Maki-Maki squinted nervously. "No?"

Ikkaku nodded. "Good answer." They'd have time for fun and games later.

"Should we try to catch up now?"

They were moving along at a decent pace, just like any other ordinary group of ruffians going about their business looting and pillaging.

Ikkaku looked around. No one to be seen, but that didn't mean a damn thing. More than a couple of people in his squad could be right on top of you before you knew they were there. It was creepy as hell, and there was no way bushwhacking counted as real fighting, but it was damned useful on occasion.

"Yeah..." he drawled. Best to get this over with.

Maki-Maki didn't ask what was wrong, but the way he didn't ask got right under Ikkaku's skin.

"The guy at the tavern?" Ikkaku paused for a moment and looked around, wondering if he _should_ say something. "The guys we're chasing said they were from the Eleventh."

That got a full-body wince. "Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh.' Should be interesting. Or pathetic." Now that he'd shared that little bit of news, it could now leave him alone and go bother someone else. Maki-Maki was a worry-wart anyhow, so it wouldn't hurt him to have something else to stew over for a while. Ikkaku now turned his attention to the others, jogging backwards so he could face the rest of the pack, Hoozukimaru slung across his shoulders.

"Okay, you mutts. We got six shinigami out lookin' for something, don't know what. It could be--"

"It's something unauthorized from Hueco Mundo, sir," someone interjected. Ikkaku nearly fell on his ass. Maki-Maki yelped in surprise.

"For fuck's sake, Newbie, let me _know_ when you show up, you damn sneaky bastard. And stop with the sir, already. You learn anything else while you were off playing ninja? Like _what_ it was?"

Newbie shook his head. "Only that the order to go track it down 'came from the top,' sir."

"Wonderful," Ikkaku snarled. He didn't mention the 'sir' again. He figured the only way he could get Newbie to stop saying it would be to cut his tongue out.

At least no one called him 'taichou.' That had happened once. Once. He hadn't had to say anything about it, then or anytime after. Making someone swallow three of his own teeth got the message across nice and clear.

"Okay, so they're looking for something, something that's maybe on the move, but they're gonna find _us_ instead. Sparkles, take a few of the guys and go head 'em off to the north. Newbie, find Peaches and the others and have them run the bastards up from the south. I want them all in one place when we take them down."

Hoshibana sneered, but bowed and took off after signaling Maki-Maki and two more of Zaraki's men to follow him. Ikkaku didn't even see Newbie leave. He was just there one minute, not there the next. Typical.

The others didn't need any orders. He just took off and trusted they would follow.

They did. They always did.

* * *

Three of the shinigami came straight into the woods, not even trying to be stealthy. They stumbled to a sudden halt when they saw Ikkaku leaning on a snag in the middle of a clearing. Hoozukimaru rested across the back of his neck and his wrists draped lazily over the ends of the zanpakutou.

They couldn't have missed him if they tried. The forest was still winter-dead, with no sign of any new green for cover, and the orange of his scarf shone like a bonfire against all the gray and brown. The three people with him weren't exactly dressed for forest camouflage, neither.

Two of the mooks simply looked startled. Ikkaku had no idea who the hell they were. They'd joined up after his time, no doubt. Their uniforms were so new, the black would probably come off on your fingers.

The third, Ikkaku knew all too well. That stupid blond mohawk was just the same as it ever was.

And of course, the guy knew Ikkaku. He actually hissed in surprise, and might have said something totally clichéd, like _you!_ or maybe something a bit more eloquent, like _you bastard!_ , but Ikkaku cut him off with a cheerful, "He-ey! Looks like you finally got yourself that promotion, Ito. Who'd you have to blow to get it? Ichimaru?"

The two guys Ikkaku didn't know started to bluster, but Ito lifted a hand just barely, and they shut up. Ikkaku watched Ito carefully. His face had sure enough gone purple at the insult, but the way his eyes cut sharply down to the badge strapped to his arm and then skidded away from Ikkaku's gaze said a lot.

"So, what the hell are you pansies doing out here anyway?" Ikkaku rolled Hoozukimaru around so it was resting on his left shoulder, then he reached into his jacket to pull out an apple.

Taking out the two idiots flanking Ito would take maybe five seconds, tops. If those swords they were carrying were anything more than asauchi, Ikkaku would eat his own fundoshi. As for Ito, unless he'd gotten real good, real fast, he'd probably still only qualify for eighth seat at best. Not bad by any stretch, because you didn't get that far in Zaraki's division without being able to win a good fight, but it was nothing Ikkaku couldn't handle.

Still, the others weren't here just yet, so he had to fill the time. He took a bite of the apple and chewed loudly, mouth smacking open.

"So. Ichimaru send you out on a little field trip or something? Let you out into the big bad world to get some fresh air?"

"None of your business what Ichimaru-soutaichou sent us here for," one of the mooks yelled. He even put his hand on the hilt of his sword and tried to look threatening. It was kind of adorable.

So they were out here on an errand, and at the head psycho's request at that. This was pathetically easy.

Ito actually met Ikkaku's eye, the expression on his face clearly saying _do you see what I have to deal with, here?_

"So why the hell d'you stay there, anyway? Is it 'cause you finally get to outrank me?"

"Technically, you have no rank any more, Madarame. No rank, no division, no honor. All you have is... what the hell happened to you?" He actually sounded offended. Or maybe just confused. "Living as a bandit, with..."

He blinked a few times as he registered exactly who was standing behind Ikkaku.

Ogidou smiled. It was the kind of smile that made it clear why he was one of Shingami Women's Association's favorite pinups.

"He's from the _Fourth_ ," Ito squawked.

"So's she." Ikkaku pointed over his shoulder at Kaede. "Say hi to the nice man who thinks he fucking outranks me, Kaede. You know how it is," he said to Ito as Kaede waved and chirped a hello. "You gotta work with what you have."

At least Harada was from the Eleventh, but he was content to stand there and stay out of the conversation. He was also doing a damned good job of keeping whatever he was thinking off his face.

"You could have been a captain, if you wanted. I looked up to you..."

Ikkaku opened and closed his free hand in a _blah-blah-blah_ motion while he finished his apple. He was _not_ in the mood to listen to this shit. What the hell was taking the others?

"You led the best squad in the Eleventh division. And now you're out here in the wild with these three--"

"Eleven."

"Huh?" Ito started to ask for clarification, but shut up real fast when he saw the rest of Ikkaku's squad coming through the forest.

Peaches, Four-eyes, Newbie and the brat had one of Ito's men with them, subdued and slung over Newbie's shoulder. His uniform was charred and wisps of smoke still trailed up from the small of his back. Ikkaku gave Peaches a _look_ but only got a sheepish smile and a shrug by way of response.

The remaining two members of Ito's group were being frog-marched back by two of their former division-mates, with Hoshibana bringing up the rear. From the way they _didn't_ struggle as much as they should have, they were still shaking off the effects of Hoshibana's shikai. Hoshibana held up two fingers. Two minutes left, maybe, before it wore off completely. Good.

Hoshibana looked like he wanted to say something else, but Ikkaku couldn't tell what.

Once they got a little closer, Ikkaku recognized the two shinigami as being at the upper level of the unseated members of the Eleventh. Probably single-digit officers by now, he thought. No wonder the former single-digit officers who were pushing them along seemed to be having a blast.

"That makes twelve of us, me included." Ikkaku said, pointing everyone out, and nearly losing stride when he realized Maki-Maki hadn't come back with the others. Well, that would explain why Sparkles looked worked up about something. Ikkaku raised an eyebrow, but the other man shook his head and mouthed 'later.'

"Okay, so someone's off taking a dump or something. Shit happens. Anyhow, there's six of _you_." A sharp nod, and the two who'd been rounded up by Hoshibana were unceremoniously shoved towards their fellows. There were a few threats and a few return jeers, and just for a moment it was like being home again.

Newbie dropped his cargo at Ito's feet. The kid--who looked even younger than Peaches--looked up and yelped when he saw who was looking down at him. Ikkaku recognized him as a fresh Academy grad who'd been recruited maybe a week before everything went to shit.

And clearly, the kid recognized Ikkaku.

Ikkaku smiled at him. The kid scooted as far away as he could.

Ito may have looked like a side of beef with an experimental haircut, but he was no idiot. It probably took him three seconds to size up what he saw.

Three high-ranking officers from Zaraki's division besides Ikkaku--sixth, seventh, and ninth seat. And Ikkaku knew Yoshino and Ito had been drinking buddies. Yeah, that could get awkward.

Ito already knew Ogidou and Kaede were from the Fourth, and Ikkaku could see him dismiss the pair out of hand.

Newbie got a long, puzzled look. Takano didn't look all that distinctive, but there'd been a fuss when Komamura recruited the foreign-born idiot who'd died while working for some group with a damned cutesy name.

Ito's lack of reaction meant Peaches had gone completely unrecognized. Thanks to that unplanned haircut--heh, more like hair _burn_ \--from the other day, Peaches was possibly classified as something picked up along the way.

As for the Sixthies, Ito wouldn't have known Rikichi. Sparkles and Four-Eyes, yeah, Ito probably knew them. Or of them. Renji had had some choice words about Hoshibana Akira when he'd come back to the Eleventh to visit. 'Stick up his ass' was one of the nicer things he'd said. Shirogane Mihane they all knew because of her sunglasses shop. A pampered noble with a fancy-pants kidou shikai and a nice little shopkeeper with a stammer. _Scary_.

No wonder Ito seemed more contemptuous than concerned.

As for Ikkaku, he'd done his own sizing up. He knew how a fight between them would play out.

"So, what's it gonna be, Ito? Wanna have a round or two of dice, winner gets to go after whatever it is Ichimaru wants? Bound to be good if he sent the big, bad Eleventh after it." A flicker of movement drew his attention for a half-second. Sparkles was slowly sidling closer to Ikkaku. "Or maybe we should just have a few drinks and laugh about old times."

"You really think this is funny, don't you."

Ikkaku looked around. His gang was staying nice and quiet, waiting. "Yeah, I do. It's real funny."

Four idiots and someone who got shot in the back by someone who didn't do that sort of thing--unless the person was running away and needed to be brought down. What had happened to the Eleventh?

And here he was facing them with a bunch of losers who'd use kidou before they'd trust in their own arms and legs and blade. What had happened to _him_?

Yeah, it was all really fucking funny. All of it.

"I don't get it, Madarame. What's up with these guys? You think _that's_ a good replacement for Ayasegawa," he said jabbing the end of his sword at Ogidou. "Gotta have something pretty around? Who'd you replace taichou with, then?"

Ikkaku's hand tightened around Hoozukimaru tight enough he thought he heard a distant growl. He kept his head down for a minute, waiting for the heat to pass, and for the throbbing at his temple to go away.

Hoshibana started to whisper something to him, but thought better of it.

"You might want to shut your fucking mouth," Ikkaku said with a calm that fooled absolutely no one. He gave himself another couple of seconds, then spoke, picking each word out carefully. "I do what I got to do, but least I'm not whorin' myself out to Ichimaru. You really think Zaraki would have put up with working for that guy? Or that fukutaichou would've?"

That got a gasp from Ito and one of his men. If they were going to play dirty, so would he. Four months ago, it wouldn't have been like this.

"You know what happened to them?"

Ikkaku shook his head. "They ain't here. And they sure as hell ain't _there_ ," he said, tilting Hoozukimaru towards Seireitei.

He wanted to tell Ito that he knew Zaraki had fallen in battle, laughing and having a grand old time of it. He wanted to give his old buddy at least that much. But then he'd have to explain _how_ he knew that.

"And you're just going to live out here, like this?" Ito took another look at Ikkaku's squad. Most of them looked like they'd been born to the bandit life. A couple though...

Goddamn Newbie could spend three days in a swamp and still come out looking like he was about to report for inspection.

"Thought those guys," he said, looking at Hoshibana and Ogidou as if they were something a cat had hocked up, "would at least've gone with Ukitake's rebels rather than live rough with these bastards." This was said with a nod and a wry smile towards Yoshino and the others.

Well, look at that. Ito was trying to be clever. He wasn't half bad at it, but he just wasn't good enough.

"Ukitake?" Ikkaku all but shouted it, laughing and incredulous. He looked around, making sure everyone saw just how surprised he was. "You gotta be kidding me! That weakling's still alive? And leading a _rebel army_? After what happened in that massive clusterfuck? Looked to me like he'd puked up a lung."

He hacked a few times, just for effect. He heard a gasp from Kaede that sounded more like a sob, and when Hoshibana rested a hand on his shoulder, those bony fingers dug in, sharp, digging under his collarbone by way of warning.

"Oh, man, that's rich. Still alive, and still fighting. Don't it figure..." He shook his head as if laughing before returning his attention to Ito. "Nah, we're on our own. Ain't nobody left worth following anymore. Ain't nothing left."

Ito studied the ground for a moment. They should have been fighting right now, going at it all gung-ho, and egging each other on even if they were trying to kill each other. But Ito didn't seem like he wanted to be the one to start things.

Ikkaku couldn't blame him.

What the hell kind of world was it, where two members of the Eleventh were looking for an excuse not to fight?

While Ito was looking away, Hoshibana leaned forward, whispering quickly.

"We found the two they were seeking. Half a mile back." He reached past Ikkaku, pointing. "They were there. They saw."

Ikkaku looked up. Just as Hoshibana had taken advantage of Ito's distraction to talk to him, the two 'officers' who'd come back with Hoshibana's team had started telling Ito something. They weren't as efficient as Hoshibana, though.

"Sparkles, I am _so_ glad you don't flail and shout like that when you gotta tell me something."

"I live to serve," Hoshibana said without even an attempt at sincerity. "At least we can talk while they're... mmm... _speaking_ over each other. I have a feeling we have some time."

From the sound of things, there was a bit of an argy-bargy about which of them had screwed up and let Sparkles get the drop on them.

"Gotcha. And it's a 'them'? You sure about that?" There were so many ways that could be so very not good. "And where the hell's Maki-Maki?"

"He stayed with the... parties of interest," Hoshibana said. He kept a careful eye on the group of six. The story seemed to be winding down, and Ito had taken note of the other conversation going on.

"Maki-Maki? You're shitting me, Sparkles." Maki-Maki wasn't a coward, but he wasn't the sort who'd just up and volunteer to babysit for two _somethings_ that came out of Aizen's lair, neither.

Hoshibana leaned in even closer. "He knew one of them. The recognition was... ah, mutual. Aramaki said his presence might be... helpful."

"Hooooly shit..." Ikkaku whispered.

"Indeed." Pause. "I suppose our two teams passing like ships in the night is no longer an option?"

Ikkaku jerked free of Hoshibana's grasp. "Who ever said it was one to start with?"

It could have been, though. He'd even thought about it, had even gone to the trouble to keep things under wraps, just in case. But Ito's two officers knew too much, and now so did Ito. Shit.

"They _are_ your former teammates." Hoshibana might have been pointing out that Ikkaku's scarf had a run in it.

"Some of 'em, yeah." Ikkaku knew he sounded tired. But he didn't much care. "And like you said, _former_."

Ito wasn't a bad guy, though. Ikkaku had fought alongside him dozens of times. Gone out drinking with him _hundreds_ of times. Yoshino would've been happy as hell to have him on the team. Not that they were going to open themselves up to that kind of mistake again. Not after what happened to Iba.

Ikkaku looked over his shoulder. Yoshino's sunglasses kept his expression unreadable, but he just shook his head slowly when Ikkaku turned.

Ito had left his group and walked towards Ikkaku. He didn't look happy.

"Guess you're not coming up here to tell me we're going to all go out and get drinks, are you?" Ikkaku straightened and casually fell into a ready stance.

"Nope." Four of Ito's men followed after him, swords already drawn.

One of Ito's men was leering at Kaede, and headed straight towards her and Ogidou, figuring the two pretty little Fourthies would be easy pickings. Ogidou just smiled and smiled, and his eyes flickered hungrily as he cataloged the man's scars.

One of the veterans--Matsuda, was it?--looked like he was getting ready to challenge Harada. Harada ignored him.

Two others looked to Ito, waiting for his direction.

The kid Peaches had brought down staggered to his feet a little more slowly than needed, and kept looking over his shoulder. He was ready to bolt, _and_ he'd overheard the whole conversation about Ukitake.

Ikkaku waved Rikichi over. "When it starts, go after short-britches down there," he whispered, indicating the target with a twitch of one shoulder. "I think he'll run. Let him get away, but keep it real. Give him something to remember it by. Make him feel lucky."

"Gotcha." Rikichi faded back and waited for it all to begin.

"You against me, how about it, Ito?" Ikkaku shifted Hoozukumaru's scabbard to his right hand, and curled his left hand in front of the hilt, ready to draw.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Ito turned to his men, but before he could give any orders, Ikkaku beat him to it.

"Newbie, Sparkles, Four-Eyes, Smiley, Riki, you're up," he called out. He didn't look back to see how those he'd brought with him from Zaraki's division reacted. If they were pissed, well, they'd sort it out later, the old-fashioned way.

Rikichi took off on cue, heels flying up in the air as he sprinted after his target. The target in question shrieked and scrambled into the woods. Rikichi had to pretend to get hung up on a bramble to give the guy a decent enough lead.

The rest of the so-called Eleventh paused as they tried to figure out who the hell Ikkaku was talking about. Their confusion turned to something else when they saw Zaraki's guys fall back and a bunch of primped yahoos--including one from the Fourth--come forward.

"Madarame! The fuck? What is--this supposed to be an insult?" Ito was so angry his words tangled round themselves.

"That's 'bout the size of it." And with that, he leapt at Ito, and there wasn't any more time to talk.

It was a good fight. Ito wasn't near as good as Ikkaku, but he'd had decent rest and regular meals for the past three months, and that leveled things off enough to keep it interesting.

But Ito couldn't help looking to see what happened to his men in those insultingly easy fights. Maybe he was going to tell them to go after Maki-Maki once they'd finished what they were doing. More likely, he just didn't trust them. Either way, what he saw distracted him enough for Ikkaku to land a vicious blow on his right shoulder. No one was going running off after anyone. Not now.

The guy who went after Mihane must've thought he had it made as he charged at a slender, bespectacled woman who stood frozen and crouched, one hand on the hilt of her zanpakutou, not even drawing. The idiot released his zanpakutou as he lifted it nice and high, thinking he'd crush Mihane with a mace twice the size of her head.

Too bad for him she was an expert at iaido. At just the right moment, she drew, and as her zanpakutou pulled free of its scabbard, the sudden release of pressure gave the blade a burst of speed and power that carried it through rib and muscle like they were nothing. After that, it was just a matter of finishing him off.

Ito pushed back hard, laying on a rapid fire series of blows Ikkaku could only just parry. Ikkaku jumped back up on the snag as if meaning to take the high ground, but instead used it as a springboard, coming down with a strike that would have flayed Ito's back wide open if Ito hadn't been quick to turn and lift his scabbard to deflect the blow. He lost a fingertip for his trouble, but shook it off as no big deal.

Ikkaku smiled.

Hoshibana's fight went almost as quickly as Mihane's. He actually released his shikai, which didn't seem to do much other than making his zanpakutou glisten as if faceted. His opponent kept looking away, no doubt knowing what would happen if Hoshibana really let things rip. Too bad that kept him from seeing Hoshibana palm one of the knives he'd taken to keeping up his left sleeve. For someone who professed to loathe dirty fighting, Hoshibana had taken it to it like a natural.

Ito and Ikkaku clashed, passed, stopped about ten paces apart.

"Damn. Kuchiki'd shit himself if he saw his third pulling a stunt like that," Ito said between ragged breaths. He was grinning like an idiot, even though his left arm was soaked in his own blood.

"What can I say. I'm a bad influence," Ikkaku said, laughing. Now that they'd taken each other's measure, they released their shikai. "Now you going to watch, or you going to fight?"

And with that, they started again.

Ito probably missed Newbie's fight, but then, it lasted maybe four seconds. Ikkaku only saw it because he was facing the right direction at the right time. As soon as Ikkaku said his name, Newbie drew his sword. The draw looked clumsy as hell, but a whispered command released sword and scabbard into as pretty a set of tonfa as you ever saw. Three strides, and a sharp backhand, and one of those tonfa hit Newbie's target right across the bridge of the nose. The return swing clocked him square in the temple even though the poor slob was probably already dead.

Soi Fong had about blown a gasket when she found out that Komamura had known exactly what Newbie's background was. She'd bitched up and down to everyone that he'd scooped her. Komamura hadn't lied, though. He'd been honest, and if people thought 'cute widdle white fwuffy cuddwy baby' when he said 'SEAL' that was their problem.

Ikkaku just wished there'd been a chance to see the guy go up against Zaraki. That would have been something.

So was his fight with Ito. He hadn't had a tangle like this in months. It was a fight to remember. Spear versus double-bitted battleaxe. Didn't get much better than that. They had never actually sparred with their released shikai before, so it was all new, and all brilliant, making up strategies as they went. It would get even more interesting when he got around to telling Hoozukimaru to split. No point in rushing it, though.

Not until the last fight was over. Course, Ikkaku wouldn't call _that_ abomination a fight.

Goddamn Smiley. Zaraki might have given Newbie a single-digit rank to get him the hell out of the Seventh, but he would have _drowned_ Ogidou.

And then he would have drowned Ikkaku for putting up with Ogidou's particular brand of horseshit.

Ogidou didn't even pretend to draw his sword. The stupid bastard just kept up that 'photograph me now!' smile of his as he dodged strike after strike. He had a gash across the back of his forearm, but he kept moving like it had never happened.

"What's he doing?" Ito asked when they'd broken apart after another clash. "Dancing?"

Ogidou got inside the other guy's guard just then, one hand on the poor bastard's chest, the other right under his ribs. He was still smiling, but it was too bright, too brittle. His victim's scars began to glow a sickly white.

"Watch," Ikkaku said, not bothering to hide his disgust. He attacked again, though, forcing Ito into a position where he'd get a good look as Ogidou used healing kidou in a way it was never meant to be used.

The sick, smiling bastard had found a way to turn the kidou inside out. The short, sharp scream and wet, tearing sound made it sound like he'd done the same to his opponent. No, there was no way he'd consider that a _fight_.

Ikkaku could have put Hoozukimaru through Ito's throat just then, but that wasn't fair. It was for the best, though, because when Ito got his shit back together, he came after Ikkaku with a vengeance.

"Who the hell _are_ you! That's not playing by our rules!" Ito came after him, not like a friend, but in a rage that made him sloppy. Ikkaku ducked the next strike without any trouble.

He didn't even bother to return the blow. Or the next one, or the one after that. It would be like fighting a raw recruit. A _drunk_ recruit.

"Rules? You bastards shat on the rules when you started kissing up to Aizen's toady! You think taichou would've stood for that?"

There was a flicker of hesitation, and then Ito finally launched an attack that was up to standard--a vicious downward arc meant to force Ikkaku to jump to avoid it and put himself in a tough spot to block the backswing. Instead, Ikkaku ducked forward, inside Ito's guard and then past him with a lazy flick of Hoozukimaru's blade. He didn't draw blood, but Ito's armband fell to the ground.

"Least I'm fighting for something that matters," Ikkaku panted. His men had regrouped, and Yoshino had Sparkles by the shoulder, holding him back from joining in the fight. "That's more'n you can say, ain't it?"

There wasn't an answer. Ito looked blank for a second, then grinned, and came after Ikkaku again.

"'Bout time." It was all Ikkaku had time or breath to say before he had to go into an aggressive, all-out defense, dodging swings that would remove limbs or crush bone while looking for any opening he could.

Ikkaku sidestepped into a blow he couldn't avoid, turning what he meant to be a jab to the chest into a deep slice between a couple of Ito's ribs and letting the flat of Tetsugarou's glance off his shoulder. Hurt like hell, but it was better than losing an arm, and that was a bloody beautiful move on Ito's part. He let the impact help him roll out of range of the return swing, pain surging in his shoulder as it hit the ground. When he came back up, Hoozukimaru snapped into its three parts so fast Ito didn't even notice until the shaft hinged around his neck and the edge laid his cheek wide open.

"You can do better than that, asshole! You shoulda been able to block that!" Ikkaku snapped Hoozukimaru back into its straight form. His left arm wouldn't lift more than shoulder-height, and he needed soemthing where he could fight single-handed. _Right_ -handed, too, putting them back on even footing. Better than even, since Ito barely seemed to be trying any more. "I've seen you do better!"

They crashed past each other, and Ikkaku took a slice out of Ito's hip. Too easy. Ito was remembering past fights, not this one--he was still guarding against a lefty. He was getting sloppy. And tired, from the way he missed his next two blows.

He was vaguely aware of Peaches piping up cheerfully that he should wait for Rikichi and the two of them could catch up later. He could almost _hear_ a little heart at the end of the sentence.

Then she did him proud by screeching at the others like the little harpy he knew she was, telling them to _go go go you lazy maggots now now now!_

"This is how it should be. Just you an' me. Just like old times."

He released Hoozukimaru again, silently, and caught Tetsugarou's haft in Hoozukimaru's upper hinge. His shoulder flared in pain, but if he couldn't stand that, what was he? A vicious twist, and Ito went stumbling off to the side. Stumbling a little too much, making a joke of Ikkaku's words.

Hell, Ito was even laughing now.

"Yeah. Just the way it _used_ to be." He'd gone gray, but he was smiling, smiling even as he slowly fell to his knees, Tetsugarou going back to it sealed form before he fell all the way.

The hell? All Ikkaku had done was block on that last exchange, and now Ito was struggling to stay upright.

It took him a moment but then he saw the dark patch on Ito's right side and remembered the best part of the fight and Hoozukimaru sliding right in between a couple of ribs.

"Got you good, didn't I," Ikkaku said quietly. He let Hoozukimaru fall back into its sealed form, then slid the blade back into its sheath. There wasn't as much blood on the ground as there should have been, but somewhere inside, Ito was bleeding out fast.

Ito nodded. His jaw was slack and his lips were going gray, but he looked like he was trying to smile. Even so, it was a lot less creepy than Ogidou's picture-perfect grin struck him these days.

"You're really working for Ukitake, aren't you?"

Ikkaku started to splutter and deny, but that was just hard-won habit.

"Y'said you were fighting for something that mattered. Didn't mean to say that, did you?"

It didn't take him long to pin down the slip of the tongue that had confirmed things for Ito. That was a stupid, amateur move. He hadn't been thinking right. Or something.

Ah, well. It wasn't like Ito was going to go anywhere or tell anyone. The kid Rikichi had chased away would tell the right sort of story to help 'keep their cover,' as Newbie would say.

"Heh. Always said you weren't as dumb as you looked, Ito. Yeah, we're doing recon, playing spy, causing trouble to keep attention away from Ukitake-taichou, going after Hollows 'cause Ichimaru won't do shit against 'em, which you damn well know. Been doing this gig ever since it all went to hell." He shook his head, laughing under his breath. "I've had a time of it. Especially with the crew I'm stuck with."

"Not like working with Taichou, right?"

Ikkaku was pretty sure Ito wasn't just talking about him taking orders from Ukitake.

"Nope."

But they'd had one good fight, one good day, and Ito wasn't going to die clinging to that sham of a rank. No, he'd be going out of this life holding onto something a lot better than that.

And Ikkaku was going to come away from this with something, too. A good fight, against someone who didn't fight too pretty or too dirty, who didn't go into a fight only looking for a way to make the fastest kill or the messiest kill.

"Y'know, I think Taichou would've liked this. Least, he wouldn't have cussed us out as a couple of weaklings."

There was a sound from Ito that might have been a laugh, but it was hard to tell. Didn't matter, because a couple of seconds later, he fell over. Ikkaku didn't bother to check to see if he was dead. Ito wouldn't have fallen, otherwise.

Ikkaku stretched, yawn turning into a curse as his left shoulder flared hot with pain, then found a place to sit and wait for Rikichi.

A quick message came from Peaches in the meantime. Just a burst of information using a variation she'd come up with based on Bakudou 77, something she swore was so fast it couldn't be traced, even if it did get the wrong someone's attention. Instead of words, it was just an image, there and gone in seconds.

Two men, both unconscious. One was in rough shape--all bony and beat up and shit--and his hair had gone long and shaggy enough to mask his face. Even so, Ikkaku recognized him at once. The other... not so much, even though something pinged him as familiar. Probably the blue hair, but other than that the guy looked completely ordinary. Built like a fighter, but no scars that he could see--and other than Yumichika, Ikkaku'd never met anyone who was built like that who didn't have a few. Course, it was only a brief image.

Brief, and yet there was an instinctive _do not trust this guy_ that rose up from somewhere the instant Ikkaku saw the guy. Heading back to Ukitake's base camp with these two wasn't an option. They'd have to find another place to take their friends.

Well, one friend and an unknown.

Ikkaku found a nice log to lean up against, and sat down to take a nap. It hadn't taken him long to realize that he didn't want to waste time trying to figure out who the other guy in the image was. For one thing, he'd find out soon enough.

For another, every time he tried to think of who the other guy was, Ikkaku always wound up thinking of all the people he _wasn't_.


	4. Kuukaku: Holding Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old style nobility still knows how to kick ass. And when to take action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather dark AU co-plotted with [](http://liralen.livejournal.com/profile)[**liralen**](http://liralen.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sophiap.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sophiap.livejournal.com/)**sophiap**. The war against Aizen's forces went very badly. Nothing is sacred and no one is safe.

**Holding Ground**

Kuukaku waded into the enemy ranks and casually tossed the leader aside. He still hadn't learned how to fall properly: he went down in a tumble of sleeves, hitting the ground with a painful-sounding thud and forgetting to slap and roll. Worse still, some of the others turned to look at him, rather than attacking together or even circling round behind her.

They didn't last long either.

"This is ridiculous," she snapped at the teacher, who was looking more than a bit embarrassed at his students' behaviour. "They're supposed to be learning teamwork! Aggression! Strength! What kind of fighting is this? Do they seriously expect to _eat_ tonight?"

The teacher (she recollected that his name was Idoru, and that he'd been invalided out of normal shinigami ranks and gone into teaching at the Academy after developing chronic arthritis) sighed, and ran his fingers through his straggly beard. "Shiba-dono, I appreciate your feelings, but please. These are the youngest of the students we managed to get out of the Academy. Normally they'd just have been in lectures and basic practice at this point." He glared at her from under yellowing-white eyebrows. "You can't seriously expect them to stand up to _you_ in a fight."

Kuukaku considered admitting that he might have a point, and rejected it. "No," she snapped. "I can't expect that. But I can expect some idea of how to gather reiatsu and how to work as a team when dealing with a stronger opponent. You!" She pointed at one girl who was picking herself off the practice mats and snivelling quietly. "You were round to my left. Did you even think of jumping me or going for my legs when I turned my back on you?"

The girl looked horrified. "But . . . but that'd be . . ."

"And if I hear the word 'cheating' or the word 'honour'," Kuukaku said warningly, "you are going to be scrubbing floors for the next three days."

The girl opened and shut her mouth a few times. She was young, Kuukaku acknowledged: young, pretty, bland, unformed, the sort of girl who should be wearing full furisode sleeves and dancing at festivals. Not the sort of person who should be here now.

But better here now than learning whatever Ichimaru taught _his_ students.

Finally, the girl said, "I apologise, Shiba-sama." She bowed. "I didn't think."

Kuukaku sighed, and ruffled the girl's hair. "So think next time, brat. Now, all of you, next up we have taking down something _above you_ \--"

She broke off as the door rattled open, sliding along its tracks to slam into place. Her little brother Ganju was there. "Sister," he said with a hasty bow. "You're needed upstairs, now."

Kuukaku raised her eyebrows, but Ganju didn't say anything further. He had the oddest expression on his face, somewhere between delighted and heartbroken. He had been supposed to be out on patrol with his men, but frankly she couldn't think of anything he might have met out in the woods that'd have got this reaction from him. It looked as if she was just going to have to go along with him and find out what it was.

"Right," she said. "Idoru-san, the students are all yours. Work them hard and maybe they can have supper tonight. Ganju -- show me what this is."

Ganju led her through the subterranean corridors of the House. She'd relocated after Aizen brought his troops in and Ichimaru took control of Seireitai, of course, and she'd restrained her impulse to decorate the House the way that she used to. These days it was all underground and well hidden, just like the old days in the really antique history scrolls when there had been Hollows roaming all over Soul Society, before the Gotei 13 and before the Academy. It made a good base for hiding some of the people that they didn't want Ichimaru finding. Ukitake Jyuushirou had his own hideout elsewhere, together with the rest of his Resistance, but they stayed in contact, and on her side she hid people who couldn't be moved round so easily and didn't have the skill to hide themselves. The Academy students they'd managed to smuggle out who hadn't been competent enough to join Ukitake's people. The civilians who'd crossed Ichimaru or one of his pet shinigami. The elderly or retired shinigami who didn't have their old speed and strength, but who'd be a star turn in Ichimaru's newly-reopened Hollow Pits if they stayed in Seireitai.

It made for a crowded way of living. Kuukaku flattered herself that she hadn't let it get to her too much. Yet.

Servants and students followed her with their eyes as she swept past. As long as she was still strong, as long as some of the old nobility still remembered their duty, their gazes said, then they could still believe there was a chance.

She knew that other Noble Houses and other landowners were holding out on their own districts: they'd mobilised what forces they had and were protecting their farmers, and sharing any spare food with refugees. Ichimaru might hold Seireitai, but he didn't hold all Soul Society. This was what it must have been like in the bad old days.

(She'd heard more people say nice things in old Yamamoto Genryuusai's memory in the last few months than she'd done in her entire previous _life_. Poor old bastard. She hoped that somewhere, somehow, he knew he was remembered and missed.)

They entered a stairwell together, and for a brief moment they were out of everyone else's earshot. "All right," she said quietly. "What is it?"

"Madarame-san's here," Ganju said. "He's got prisoners."

"Prisoners? _Here?_ " She'd thought the man had more sense than to bring possible enemies here. It'd be the devil's own job to move this place and everyone in it.

"Protective custody," Ganju said hastily. "We don't think they're enemies, big sister. Ichimaru's men were hunting them too, Madarame-san says. It looks like they've just escaped from Hueco Mundo. They could know something vital. And --"

"And?" Kuukaku demanded.

"One of them we know. He's one of the ones who was with Kurosaki. The big boy. Sado Yasutora."

Kuukaku blinked. "Right," she said, increasing her pace up the stairs. "I need a private room, Madarame can stay while we interrogate them, give his people something to eat and drink while they're waiting, make sure nobody talks about this."

"Already done, big sister," Ganju said, looking just a little smug.

"And you're guarding the door," she added.

His smirk turned to a pout. "But --" he tried.

She gave him her best glare.

"Yes, big sister," he said meekly.

\---

The Sado boy was a wreck, and his blue-haired friend didn't look much better. Madarame was watching both of them, his hand casually near the hilt of his zanpakutou. He'd ordered one of the servants to fetch food and drink, and all three of them were eating as if they hadn't had anything for a week.

Sado probably hadn't eaten for longer than that. His big bones showed painfully under his skin. He had bruises all over -- some old, some new. Recent needle marks and the lines of blade incisions showed red along the insides of his arms. He moved with the careful slowness of someone who'd been abused or under battle conditions too long, and was deliberately forcing himself not to jump or twitch.

Poor kid.

The other one was a stranger. He had raffishly styled blue hair, and plain white clothing in expensive silk, jacket and trousers, cut to show his bare chest and arms. In between mouthfuls of rice he was staring round the room, his eyes vicious and watchful, clearly just looking for a fight. The mad dog type.

"All right," Kuukaku said, taking a seat on the cushions and waving Sado down as he tried to rise. "Good to see you, Madarame, gentlemen. But now we've got some questions to answer, and I hope that you're inclined to talk. By the way, Madarame, have you informed," she didn't say _Ukitake_ but she knew that he'd know who she meant, "anyone else about this?"

"Sent a messenger," Madarame grunted. "She's fast. She'll be there soon. We found this pair out in the forests, being hunted by Ichimaru's pets."

"And Ichimaru's pets?" Kuukaku asked.

"Whaddyathink?"

Kuukaku nodded. "All right. Sado, have you had enough to eat for the moment? Can you tell us how it is you're here, and what happened?"

The boy looked up from his rice. They'd probably been starving him, if he'd been a prisoner. Hunger was one of the first ways to cripple a reiatsu-user's strength. "I'm sorry, Shiba-san," he said softly, deep voice uncertain. "I was very hungry. Of course I can tell you what I know, but I'm afraid it's not very much."

"Course it wasn't," the blue-haired man snapped. "You've been in a fucking cell these last few months."

Kuukaku looked at him. "And you are?"

"Grimmjow Jeagerjaques," he said with a sneer. "Sixth Espada . . ." Then he trailed off again, looking somehow uncertain.

"You ain't no fucking Espada," Madarame said. "No hole. Not a Hollow."

"Yes," Sado said. "He said that's part of what happened. It was what Inoue did. Though I don't think she meant to . . ." He pulled himself together and put his bowl down, lowering his head, and Kuukaku suspected that behind the shaggy curtain of his hair he was biting his lip and holding back tears. "You see, Shiba-san, Madarame-san, it was like this . . ."

There was a long pause. He took a breath.

"We went to Hueco Mundo," he said. "You probably know that. Kurosaki and Ishida and me. We were going to rescue Inoue. We got down there with Urahara Kisuke's help, and we met Kuchiki Rukia and Abarai Renji . . ."

Madarame nodded. "I'd heard they'd gone down there," he said.

"There were fights." The boy ground the words out with an effort. "We split up. We were trying to find Inoue. Then I met one of the Espada, a big one. Someone told me afterwards that he'd been the fifth one in rank. He had a big axe, double open blades. I . . ." He looked down at his plate again. "He beat me."

"Zaraki-taichou beat him," Madarame said, with the nearest thing to a smile that Kuukaku had seen on him for weeks. "Don't feel so bad about it, kid. If he was tough enough that Zaraki-taichou had to use both hands, then he was way out of your league. No offence."

"None taken," Sado mumbled. "But . . . anyhow, he beat me. Then I woke up to find Unohana-taichou healing me. Then she said she could hear something bad happening nearby, and she had to go and see to it, and would I be all right? So I told her I would." His words were coming more slowly now. "Then I was attacked again and this time Unohana-taichou wasn't there, and I woke up in a cell."

Grimmjow snorted. "I told them they should just have fucking killed you, but would they listen to me? Naah."

Madarame leaned forward. "You're not giving us much of a reason to keep you alive with talk like that, bastard!"

"Oh, I think I've got a better reason than that," Grimmjow said smugly. "I think I've got things you want to know."

"Let Sado finish talking first," Kuukaku said. She could see the boy was almost out on his feet. He'd need a healer's attention and sleep very soon. "So you were a prisoner. You know that we didn't do too well here either?"

Sado took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "They didn't talk to me much while I was a prisoner, but their scientist, the eighth Espada -- he talked over me sometimes while he was doing tests on me." His lips tightened. Clearly he wasn't going to discuss those 'tests'. "Talked to other people while I was in the room. So I heard bits. And sometimes one of the Fourth Division healers would come in to patch me up. So I knew they were prisoners."

Madarame and Kuukaku exchanged a quick glance. When Unohana-taichou had surrendered Seireitai to Aizen, he'd taken her and her most competent healers back to Hueco Mundo with him in chains. It was a spark of hope in the darkness to know that they might still be alive there. "Were they able to tell you anything useful?" Kuukaku asked.

Sado shook his head. "There was always a guard there. And they had some sort of collars on. One of them whispered a bit. He said that there had been a battle, that Yamamoto-soutaichou had died, that there were hardly any of the Captains left . . ."

Kuukaku reached across and patted his shoulder. "It's okay, kid. We'll fill you in on the details later. But you can see that there are still people around who are fighting back. Look, you're tired. Just tell me the important stuff and then you can rest. Who's in charge in Hueco Mundo? Aizen?"

"Yes," Chad said. He looked up again. "I don't think I was important to him, so he didn't bother with me. I didn't see either of the others, Ichimaru or Tousen . . ."

"Tousen's dead," Madarame said briefly. "He and Komamura-taichou killed each other. Ichimaru's in Seireitai these days. They call him Soutaichou." He spat to one side to show his opinion of that.

"Madarame," Kuukaku said ominously, "you're free to spit whenever you hear the bastard's name whenever you want and as much as you like, but not on my floors."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He rubbed at the wet patch with his heel. "Go on, kid. How did you get out of there, and in this company?" He nodded towards Grimmjow.

Sado's forehead furrowed. "I don't know the whole of it," he said slowly. "All I know is that Hisagi-fukutaichou --"

"That rat bastard!" Madarame came to his feet, his zanpakutou half drawn. "He doesn't deserve that title any longer!"

Kuukaku sighed. "Madarame, shut up and sit down. Sado, go on. Hisagi did something?"

"He came to my cell," Sado said carefully. "He told me to keep quiet and he led me through some passages I hadn't been through before. We came to one of the gates of Hueco Mundo, and Grimmjow was there. The gate guards were dead. Hisagi told me that this was where I got out. He said to tell you that he wasn't a traitor, that he'd never been a traitor --"

Kuukaku gestured urgently to Madarame to be silent. She could feel the rising burn of fury in him, but this was not the moment to interrupt.

"-- and that Komamura-taichou and Yamamoto-soutaichou had ordered him to play along with Tousen and get his confidence. He said that he didn't expect you to believe it. He said he wouldn't believe it himself. But he says that he can get some people into Hueco Mundo and that if you can trust him, then he will help you kill Aizen Sousuke."

\---

Ganju helped Sado up the stairs, one arm under his shoulder. "Come on now, I've got you," he cajoled him. "We've got a nice bed for you to lie on, and a bath so you can get clean, and there's a healer waiting to have a look at your injuries." Granted it was an old granny who'd retired from Fourth Division a hundred years ago, but at the moment that was all there _was_. "You've done your bit. You can rest now."

"Don't need help," Sado muttered.

"Course you don't," Ganju agreed. "But big sister told me to help you, so I have to help you. Do you really want to go back down there and argue with her?"

Sado didn't argue with that, which showed he had at least some common sense left after everything he'd been through. Ganju got him to the landing with the spare rooms (not that there were many spare at the moment) and handed him over to the healer and to a servant who'd get him bathed and into bed, then turned to head back down to join Kuukaku again.

Of course he'd heard about Kurosaki and his friends going to Hueco Mundo. He'd hoped that maybe they'd even succeed. They'd got Kuchiki Rukia out of the Tower of Penitence. Could Hueco Mundo be that much worse?

It was being borne in on him that apparently it could.

He wondered what had happened to Kurosaki Ichigo, and to the thin Quincy boy in his spectacles, and pretty Inoue, and even Kuchiki Rukia. For his dead brother's sake, he hoped that she at least hadn't . . . no, he couldn't bring himself to hope that she hadn't been imprisoned, because then what _had_ happened to her? He'd hated her for most of his life, but now, thinking about all the things that might have happened, he couldn't bring himself to imagine what could be the least bad thing . . .

"Excuse me," one of the shinigami students said, stepping into his path.

"Yeah?" Ganju grunted. "What is it?"

The young man bowed. He was well-muscled and fit, probably nearly ready to go out and join Ukitake's group. "Forgive me, Shiba-sama. I apologise for interrupting. But I recognised that person whom you were with just now."

Ganju frowned. "Oh? And who did you think he was?"

The young man stepped closer. "I think he was Sado Yasutora. Which means he knew my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Yes." The young man bowed again. "I am Inoue Sora. My sister was Inoue Orihime. She knew Sado Yasutora. I remember seeing him, sometimes when I was . . . watching her." A shadow passed over his face, and he hesitated, then quickly recovered, speaking with a growing urgency. "Shiba-sama, if you know anything about what's happened to my sister -- where she is, what's going on with her -- then I beg you to tell me. Please. I hurt her, and then I left her alone, and . . . if there is something that I can do, _anything_ that I can do, then I have to do it."

Ganju looked Inoue Sora over. His first impulse was to box the idiot's ears and lock him up somewhere till he'd calmed down, but he could understand the fellow's point. She was his sister. That had to mean something. And, he decided conveniently, he couldn't let him go wandering around tossing Sado's name into everyone's ears.

"Look," he finally said. "I can't tell you anything for the moment, and Sado needs his sleep, so asking him won't do any good. Come along with me now, and help me stand guard, and we'll talk to my big sister when she's free, and we'll see what she says." Belatedly he remembered that he was supposed to be giving orders, not asking permission. "You got that?" he snapped.

"Got it," Inoue Sora said with a smile, and snapped a (shinigami) salute. "Lead on, Shiba-sama."

Well, at least he had _some_ manners.

\---

Grimmjow relaxed as Chad left the room, lounging back with an air of superiority.

"You're surprisingly relaxed for someone in the middle of your enemies," Kuukaku said, running the statement up the metaphorical flagpole to see how he reacted.

"I figure that I've got something you haven't got," Grimmjow said cheerfully. "That means you're not going to kill me any time soon."

"We could be the torturing type," Madarame said, with his best menacing leer.

Grimmjow snorted. "Don't bother trying that on me. I've spent the last few days with that kid. I've got some idea of what you people are like. Sure, you might kill me in a straight fight, but you're not like Aizen or Ichimaru or those scientist bastards. You've got something I want. I've got something you want. Let's talk business."

"I'd rather beat the crap out of you till you talked," Madarame snarled.

"Yeah?" Grimmjow leaned forward. "Well, I'd rather beat the crap out of _you_ , motherfucker, but --" He cut off abruptly.

"But I don't think you can," Kuukaku said slowly. She could feel her mouth curling in a nasty smile. "I mean, let's look at the facts. You were running from Aizen's goons. No, you were running from _Ichimaru's_ thugs. Petty shinigami who wouldn't last ten seconds in a fight against proper combatants. And you were running from them. Got anything you want to tell us about any little problems you currently have, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques?"

Grimmjow glared at her. "Bitch," he growled.

"Bitch who holds the cards," Kuukaku corrected him. She'd have liked to put him through the wall while she was at it, but she figured that bit of persuasion might be useful later. "So how come you're like this? Does it have anything to do with Inoue Orihime, like Sado-kun just said?"

Grimmjow settled down in his seat again, deliberately taking a few moments to fold his arms before speaking again. "Yeah. It was that bitch's fault. Figure she didn't even know what she was doing."

"What did she do?" Madarame asked.

Clearly Grimmjow had been wanting to complain to _someone_ about this, even if they weren't the perfect audience. "Well, see, Aizen likes to get us upgraded any way he can come up with. So he'd told the Inoue bitch to see if she could use her powers to make me stronger." He shrugged. "Waste of time if you ask me, but what the fuck are you going to do? There's nothing to do except hang around and fight anyhow. So I met up with her in one of the practice rooms. Hisagi was guarding her that day. Usually it's Ulquiorra who's minding her, but he must have had something better to do, and everyone knows that tattoo-boy does whatever Aizen tells him. So," clearly 'so' was his favourite word, "Hisagi's by the door, and the girl's trying to use her powers with shields and whatever, but nothing's happening and I can walk through her damn shields anyhow. So I figure that maybe if I frighten her a bit then she'll use more power. So I get up in her face and personal and start talking about what I'm going to do to her and everyone else. And then something happens."

"What?" Kuukaku demanded.

Grimmjow scratched his head. "Fucked if I know. But fucked over is pretty much what I was. She screams that she's rejecting me, and then there's this big light and everything goes away. And when I wake up she's unconscious and Hisagi's looking pretty much like shit too, and I'm like . . ." He gestured at his hole-less stomach. "Like this."

"Big improvement," Madarame said.

"Well, yeah, _you'd_ think so," Grimmjow muttered.

"And Hisagi got you out?" Kuukaku asked.

Grimmjow nodded. "He was a bit more together than I was, and the girl was still out of it. He comes over to me, and he says, 'You know what's going to happen once the rest of the Espada find out about this? You really think Aizen's going to do anything to fix you? He'll just promote someone into your place and hand you over to Szayel Apollo or Kurotsuchi to find out what happened.' Well, at first I'm surprised to hear him say just _Aizen_ and not _Aizen-sama_ , 'cause the last few months you wouldn't think he'd known how to say anything else, but then I think about what he's saying, and it seems to me that he might have a point. He gives me a moment to think about it, then he says, 'I can help you get out of here and get to safety, and you can rebuild your strength there. I'll cover up for where you've gone, say that you've gone hunting or something.'"

Kuukaku nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Madarame leaning forward eagerly. Now that she thought about it, this did sound like the sort of story Eleventh Division used to love, and told in just the way they used to love it.

"So I think about what he's saying," Grimmjow went on, "and I think that maybe he's talking sense. And I also remember that he's never got on well with any of the other Espada or Kurotsuchi. So maybe he's playing a deep game and wants me to remember that I owe him a favour. Fair enough. I can handle payback. So I tell him yes. Then he says, wait, you're going to need to take along one of the prisoners. And I say why? And he says, because the best place for you to hide out is Soul Society, because nobody'll be looking for you there, and if you take along one of the prisoners and a message from me, then the shinigami who are still fighting Aizen will keep you hidden while you get stronger. But if you don't have someone to prove you're on their side, then that lot are going to kill you on sight."

"Got that one right," Madarame said.

Grimmjow shrugged. "So I figured that I did owe him one for getting me out of the place quietly, and this'd pay it off. He gets me to one of the gates and kills the guard so they won't talk, then he brings that Sado boy in and gives him that message he gave you, about how he wants to sell out Aizen to you lot. And . . ." He hesitated. "That's when I start thinking."

Kuukaku refilled his cup. "What did you think?" she asked.

Grimmjow glared at her. "I think, what am I in this for? I'm not in this for any sort of shit about Hollow triumph or making Aizen god. I'm not in this just because I want to kill you lot. I'm in this because I want to be the strongest. That's what I said then, and that's what I say now. What Hisagi said was right. Aizen wouldn't give two shits about me now that I haven't got the power to be an Espada. And it's his fault anyhow, for letting that Inoue bitch do stuff to me."

"You could have gone to Aizen and told him about Hisagi trying to betray him," Madarame said bluntly. "Why didn't you?"

Grimmjow sneered. "Haven't you been listening, fuckhead? What good would that have done me? Sure it could have got Hisagi killed, but it wouldn't have saved _me_! It wouldn't have got me my strength back!"

His tone sounded a little off to Kuukaku. But she couldn't see him as the sort of person who'd turn someone else in for treason. If nothing else, he'd probably consider it to be what "wimps" did. "All right," she said. "So you left Hueco Mundo with Sado and got here. So what are you planning now?"

"Well," Grimmjow said. "I think that's up to you."

Kuukaku raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I know stuff." Grimmjow smirked. "I know a lot of stuff. I'm prepared to tell some of it. But I want a place to stay till . . . till I get better." There was something a little desperate about the expression in his eyes. "I think you can do that for me. But I'm not going to negotiate with a squad-leader or a jumped-up bitch running an oversize inn. I want to talk with the person at the top, and I'm not going to deal with anyone lower down."

"Fuck no," Madarame said. "You have got to be joking. Either that, or Inoue-san blew your brains out while she was patching up your hole."

Kuukaku was thinking very fast. "Two things," she said.

"What?" Grimmjow demanded.

"You may have something that might be useful to us. We're prepared to negotiate." After all, if what he'd said was _true_ , then this was the biggest chance that the Resistance had had since it was formed. "But first you get checked for any surveillance. And you go to talk to them blindfolded. And you go when we say and how we say. You've got a bargaining chip, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques. Don't push it."

Grimmjow thought about that. "Okay. I'll consider it. Second thing?"

Kuukaku rose to her feet in one motion, picked him up by the collar, swung him round and slammed him into the floor, then picked him up again and slung him through the wall.

"Don't call me bitch," she said.

Grimmjow pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. Ganju and some shinigami trainee were standing there further down the corridor, mouths open in fly-catching position. "Bitch-sama," he said. "Doing anything tonight?"

Kuukaku didn't dignify that with an answer. "Ganju!" she ordered. "This one stays under guard for the moment, but give him some more food. The poor moron's so weak and feeble that he couldn't even put up a fight against _you_."

Grimmjow's expression went from mildly amused (and aroused) to deeply, bitterly furious.

Kuukaku ignored him, turning back to Madarame. She waited till Grimmjow had been marched off before she spoke again. "Don't worry. I felt his reiatsu when I got hold of him. He doesn't have the strength to fight properly at the moment."

"But taking him to see Ukitake?" Madarame snapped. "Are you out of your fucking mind? The whole thing could be some sort of trap!"

"It could be," Kuukaku said. "But what if it isn't?"

"I don't like it," Madarame said. "They've tried lures before. Sado's honest, but he could have been lied to. He only knows what that bastard Hisagi told him. That one . . ." He frowned in the direction Grimmjow had gone.

"That one's no liar," Kuukaku said. "He isn't the type. Hell, he doesn't even know it's Ukitake-taichou he wants to talk to, or he'd have used the man's name. He'd never have turned himself into a weakling as part of a plot."

"So Aizen could have set the whole thing up." Ikkaku hunched his shoulders. "He's done stuff like that before. That guy who almost got word back, the one who took out Iba-fukutaichou's knee . . ."

Kuukaku sighed. "We screen them both. We have the kidou experts look them over. We strip them naked and dump them in a bath full of disinfectant. We set the meeting up at a neutral ground that isn't Ukitake-taichou's current hideout. We don't even let Grimmjow meet Ukitake-taichou at first. But we're going to have to do this, Madarame. We can't miss this chance." Quietly, she added, "Ukitake-taichou would say so as well."

Madarame muttered something which might or might not have included the words 'idiot' and 'moron' and 'damn all captains anyhow'.

Kuukaku patted him on the shoulder. "Let's get started," she said.

\---  



	5. Nanao: Morning, Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning tea with the Resistance. -- by incandescens

NANAO: MORNING, INTERRUPTED

Somewhere within earshot, something was dripping, its irregular pulse a contrast to Isane's approaching steps. It was getting on Nanao's nerves. This old manor house that they'd occupied had been unoccupied for decades: it had belonged to a family in the minor nobility who had all died, married elsewhere, or just found some excuse to leave and never come back again. The garden had gone to seed, and the roof had gone to pieces. While they'd patched it up as far as was consistent with leaving it looking abandoned, that still allowed a lot of cracks, draughts, and leaks. She made a mental note to see who was due a punishment detail and send them up with some nails and tar-paper.

A few of the new recruits made nervous jokes about graves at the bottom of the garden. What rubbish. They'd moved at least twice since they last buried anyone, and they hadn't been able to mark the graves with more than anonymous headstones. It would have been too obvious a trail if they'd been found.

And that meant that Matsumoto Rangiku -- in all her golden cheerfulness, all her exuberance, all her laziness, all her _life_ \-- now slept in the quiet earth beneath an unwritten marker, and was spared the knowledge of her Captain's death. Nanao had never been close to Rangiku. But when she'd dragged her off the battlefield, with the blood from the huge wound in her side staining the ground and soaking Nanao's clothes, there had been no question of likes or dislikes or anything so petty, only the desperate attempt to save what could be saved . . .

Nanao put out one hand to pause Isane as they came abreast of each other in the passageway. "How is he?" she asked softly.

Isane smiled, very tentatively, very faintly. "He's doing well today," she murmured. "I've already given him his morning treatment and his tea. Sasakibe-fukutaichou is taking breakfast with him."

"Thank you." Nanao was about to continue, when a thought held her back. She laid her hand on Isane's arm. "Do you want to spar, later?"

Isane's gaze shuttered, and she turned her face away. "No, thank you," she said.

"I would be grateful for the practice, and Hinamori's off on patrol," Nanao tried. She was painfully familiar with that look of resigned failure in Isane's eyes. "It's been a while since we tested ourselves against each other --"

"You should test yourself against someone more your own level, Ise-fukutaichou," Isane said: it wasn't aggressive, but the choice of words was as painful a weapon as any anger. "I'm sure I wouldn't be a challenge for you."

"Isane --" Nanao's hand tightened on the oher woman's arm. "Please don't _do_ this."

"Hush," Isane said quietly, composedly. "Ukitake-taichou will hear you and be upset." She shifted her arm under Nanao's hand, sliding it free from her hold, and continued down the passageway, head lowered in a nervous stoop.

 _She never used to walk that way when she was following Unohana-taichou_ , Nanao thought. _Even though Unohana-taichou was that much shorter than her . . ._

She bit her lip. This wouldn't help. She had to focus on what she could do, not think about what was lost, or she'd be as bad as . . . as bad as Isane. The thought was bitter. She couldn't _blame_ Isane, not at all, because she knew exactly how it felt to lose a Captain. And she herself had only had the news of it secondhand. She hadn't had to obey a Captain's orders to retreat, while knowing exactly who the Captain was going to be surrendering to, and being able to guess what would happen next.

(And when she caught up to her own Captain in the next life -- she was quite definite about this point -- then she was going to have a few words with him about how he'd left her behind to hear the news of his death secondhand and never see him again. But that could wait.)

She schooled her face to mild control and efficiency, and went on down the corridor to Ukitake's office.

"Come in," he called in response to her rap on the door. His voice sounded healthier than usual, though still far from his earlier smoothness. Maybe, she allowed herself to hope, he was getting better.

The morning light slanted in through the windows, and the shadows of the untrimmed trees outside danced across the floor as the wind twisted their dead branches. A fire crackled in the fireplace, burning high: Isane must have just put some new logs on a few moments ago. Ukitake-taichou was sitting in the window bay, with a shawl thrown over his shoulders, his breakfast tray on the small table next to him, nearly crowded off by a set of maps; Sasakibe-fukutaichou was nursing a cup of tea, perched beside him on a stool, clearly having been just pointing something out. Both men nodded to Nanao as she closed the door.

"Ukitake-taichou, Sasakibe-fukutaichou," she said in return. "I'm sorry to be disturbing you gentlemen so early . . ."

"Don't worry, Ise-kun," Ukitake-taichou said. His voice was still hoarse and breathy, but it was such an improvement on what it _had_ been that she couldn't suppress that little repeated burst of hope. He smiled fondly at her. "I'm sure that you wouldn't be here without cause."

She pulled another stool across, and sat down, putting her books in her lap for the moment. "Nothing unusual, sir. No incursions, no new reports from the patrols. We're starting to run a little low on food, given the current numbers, and should probably send out a sweep to collect some more within the next three days."

Sasakibe-fukutaichou nodded. "Excellent. No news is good news." He gave the closest thing to a smile that one saw on him these days, and sipped his tea.

Nanao toyed with the edges of her books. There was something she'd been wanting to ask for a while, but the opportunity had never really arisen. "Ukitake-taichou, if I may ask something?"

"Of course," Ukitake-taichou said quickly. He was looking at her as if he were worried about her.

"When you were," _about to die, we all thought,_ "very badly injured, your zanpakutou spoke to us. Sir, I know that it is _possible_ for a zanpakutou to manifest outside its user, or the user wouldn't be able to duel it and achieve bankai. But I've never heard of one actually doing so of its own accord in order to interact with other shinigami."

"Hm." Ukitake-taichou stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That is an interesting question, Ise-kun. I'm not entirely sure myself, to be honest. After all, shinigami are in combat situations or near-death situations all the time, and their zanpakutou haven't manifested in physical form or spoken to other shinigami to save them. Even Captains," he added dryly.

"Nevertheless, there have been very occasional cases," Sasakibe-fukutaichou said. "Enough that the situation is not entirely unknown."

"Just . . . rare," Nanao said.

Sasakibe-fukutaichou nodded. "But really, we know so little about zanpakutou in themselves."

Nanao looked hopefully curious. It was quite true, after all: there weren't rules and procedures for handling zanpakutou in the same way that there were for handling kidou. There were asauchi, and there was shikai, and then there was bankai, and that was all, and what you knew of your own zanpakutou was something intensely private.

"Yoruichi told me that she spoke to Kurosaki-kun's zanpakutou," Ukitake said. "She'd used some contrivance of Urahara's to summon it into physical form, so that Kurosaki-kun could achieve his bankai. It spoke to her freely, but only so far as she was involved in Kurosaki-kun's business."

"Contrivances and gadgets," Sasakibe-fukutaichou said, with a distinct overtone of scorn. "The boy certainly had talent, but I'm not convinced that it should have been forced in that way." He coughed. "Granted the circumstances were unusual, but it must have left huge gaps in his training and practice. Simply being able to summon a bankai is no guarantee of using it effectively."

"This contrivance . . ." Nanao said thoughtfully.

"Unavailable," Ukitake-taichou said firmly. "Sasakibe-kun is right. Forcing yourself into bankai over the next few days won't help the situation, Ise-kun, and such artificial methods carry their own dangers."

Nanao supposed she should be glad that he thought she might have been able to do it. It didn't help much. They needed all the power they could get.

Ukitake-taichou reached across and patted her hand, making her blink in surprise. "Ise-kun, I can understand why you are asking. And if we still had access to the Archives . . ." He paused to cough. "If we did, then I would gladly give you the names of a dozen previous Captains so that you could read their memoirs, and . . ." He didn't say, _Kyouraku would have helped you,_ which was a kindness. ". . . I would have done anything I could. The difficulty is that there isn't much that anyone else _can_ do. Everyone's path to bankai is individual. What worked for Abarai Renji probably wouldn't work for you, any more than it might work for Sasakibe-kun here, or for Kotetsu Isane. I know that you can talk with your zanpakutou. That's the only entity who can help you. Some of them are more proactive, some of them less, but in the end, it's between you and it. And will you two please stop looking at me as if you think I'm about to fall over!" he added in a sudden spurt of irritation.

"It could be a question of the direction of power," Sasakibe-fukutaichou said, turning the discussion neatly before it could get more awkward. He took another sip of his tea. "When Ukitake-taichou's zanpakutou spoke to the rest of us, Ukitake-taichou was throwing off flares of reiatsu, but with absolutely no conscious control. Maybe it was a case of the power being directed _somewhere_."

"That isn't the most comforting of thoughts," Ukitake-taichou said. "Our training has always been to recognise and master the zanpakutou, not to allow it to control us, or speak for us."

"Also, surely someone would have noticed beforehand if it were the case," Nanao said. It was easy to fall into a pattern of logical discussion and argument and research. It was so very easy. While it was going on, she could pretend that nothing had happened, that everything was just the way it used to be. "Even if there were only a few cases, there should have been some common elements."

"Ah." Sasakibe-fukutaichou said, and raised a finger. "But this is one of the few cases -- please forgive me, Ukitake-taichou -- where we have actually been able to observe the phenomenon up close to. Is it possible that the required factors are the necessity in the zanpakutou's point of view for communication with others, and a highly developed zanpakutou and reiatsu, but at the same time a complete loss of control by the zanpakutou's master? If the shinigami in question was competent enough to develop that level of power, he might be so competent that he would never lose that control in the first place."

"But is it that the zanpakutou develops together with the shinigami," Nanao asked, "or is it simply the shinigami's ability to recognise and use it?"

Ukitake-taichou and Sasakibe-fukutaichou looked at each other for a moment, and for that moment Nanao felt shut out by their mutual age and experience. Finally Ukitake-taichou said, "I'm not sure how to answer that, Ise-kun. But as the shinigami grows to know the zanpakutou better, so the zanpakutou also knows the shinigami. They have their own memories. You must know that yourself."

Nanao nodded, ducking her head in embarrassment.

"But it's true," Sasakibe-fukutaichou said, "that there is . . . if not exactly development, then at least a closer interaction." His voice slowed. "A greater urge to force the shinigami into action. A holding of affections and grudges. Zanpakutou are buried with their users for good reason."

Ukitake-taichou opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

Nanao frowned. "Ukitake-taichou?"

"There was one case that I have heard of," Ukitake-taichou said reluctantly. "At the time, it was considered . . . unwise, shall we say, but given the bond of affection between the two people involved, and the fact that the previous owner had barely had it long enough to establish its form and name, it was passed over. In fact, everything connected with the matter was passed over rather too fast." Distaste was clear in his voice. "It's hardly surprising that you wouldn't have heard of it, Ise-kun. It was before you joined Eighth Division."

Sasakibe-fukutaichou blinked, then nodded in sudden recognition. "Ah. That case."

"Which one?" Nanao inquired politely. Surely they weren't going to just shut up and refuse to tell her.

Possibly they were.

"Tousen Kaname," Ukitake-taichou said, in a tone which clearly closed the subject. He coughed, and held up his tea-cup in obvious request, and Nanao busied herself filling it.

Doors slammed in the distance. All three of them looked up as the sound of running footsteps drew closer. Nanao hastily put the teapot down, readying herself to jump to Ukitake-taichou's defence.

The chamber door banged open. One of the junior shinigami who'd been posted to guard duty stood there, panting from his speed. "Ukitake-taichou! Vice-captains! Hinamori-fukutaichou is back from patrol with Third Seat Madarame, and she's got really urgent news! She says you need to hear this at once!"

Ukitake-taichou sipped his tea calmly, then put the cup down with a click. "Well then. Show her in."

"I'm here, Ukitake-taichou," Hinamori said, stepping round the young shinigami. She patted him on the shoulder. "Well done, Kouta-kun. You can go back to your post now." Her clothing was still spattered from the mud of travel, and her hair was the same short spiked mess that the little "accident" with shikai and kidou had left it in, but her eyes were glittering with a direction and purpose that Nanao hadn't seen in her for months.

Kouta closed the door with a nod, and his footsteps receded as he trotted off back to his post again, rather less enthusiastically and speedily than he had arrived. Ukitake-taichou and Sasakibe-fukutaichou both sat there, with the patience of commanding officers who were used to getting reports ranging from "it's the end of the world" to "salaries are being given out early and with bonuses". Nanao got up, put her books down, and pulled another stool over for Hinamori to sit on.

Hinamori wasn't just looking cheerful. Hinamori was looking positively incendiary. She sat down, folded her tiny hands between her knees, and leaned forward. "Madarame sent me to report direct to you, Ukitake-taichou." She gave a quick nod to Sasakibe-fukutaichou and to Nanao to show that she wasn't leaving them out. "We've got prisoners. From Hueco Mundo."  



	6. Winter War: Ukitake: Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's left of the Resistance tries to get Grimmjow to tell them what he can about Hisagi's plan and the strength and state of their enemies. -- by liralenli

**Ukitake: Chance**

"Tell the perimeter guard that Madarame should be shown here the moment he arrives. Ise-kun, please send a kido message to Kotetsu-kun and Iba-kun to join us, and have them bring water and what rations can be spared for both Hinamori-kun and her commander."

Nanao hurried off. Jyuushiro had the impression that the young fukutaichou was like a top, only balanced when she was in motion. He took advantage of her need because he was so desperate for someone effective. There would be time enough for breakdowns when they were done or buried.

When Isane showed up, Jyuushiro said, "I need you for a moment." To the others, he added, "Excuse us." He gave her a sign, and wordlessly Isane wheeled him to the infirmary.

"A stimulant, please. I need a bit more than tea for this," Jyuushiro said firmly.

"You won't be able to sleep," she said, looking worried. "You can't use the sleeping drugs after this is in your system."

"Well, I'll hope that will give me more time to think all this through." Jyuushiro smiled. "Isane, I need this for now."

It pained Jyuushiro to call Isane "Kotetsu". The name reminded him of her sister, his Third, who was no longer with them. That Isane accepted being called by her given name had eased their private interactions, and given how many of his weaknesses she'd had to deal with in his daily medical needs, it seemed an earned familiarity now.

She frowned, but nodded and injected something in his upper arm. He felt the drug move into his system, making his pulse flutter, and his breathing clear. Long practice made it easy to know that he still looked as calm as necessary. "Back to the briefing room, please."

Her lips tightened, but she took the handles of his wheelchair.

Madarame looked up at his entrance. His eyes flickered away from the wheelchair, but then back again, and this time he met Jyuushiro's gaze. Jyuushiro nodded, acknowledging both Madarame's discomfort with his weakness and the man's ability to work around it. Jyuushiro had wanted to give the man at least a vice-captaincy, but Madarame had reacted very badly to the suggestion, along with any usage of honorifics by Jyuushiro. Jyuushiro honored both requests.

"Report."

"We stumbled on one of Gin's crews..."

Madarame's telling was terse, succinct; even so, Jyuushiro gave a deliberate wince at finding that the roaming squad had named itself part of the Eleventh. Madarame's expression calmed, smoothing out on seeing Jyuushiro's reaction, and his telling grew more detailed.

In combination with Hinamori-kun's report, the implications intrigued Jyuushiro even more than the straightforward facts: a Hollow who took care of a mortal soul, Inoue's newfound powers, and even the possibility of Hisagi being planted as a counter by Yamamoto-soutaichou.

"Shiba's willing to hold the idiot and feed him until we're ready for him. Do you really want to go through with it, Taichou? Bring him here?"

It was a measure of how far he'd recovered that every eye turned toward Jyuushiro at the end of that sentence. The old arguments, contests to see who might be most opinionated about a certain path of action, were no longer customary when discussing new information. That was an improvement.

He looked around the circle of faces, some uncertain, and then met Madarame's challenging gaze. "Yes. We need to wring every last bit of information out of him. Even beyond what Hisagi may or may not have told him, trustworthy or not, the fact that he lived in Hueco Mundo may have given him information we can use."

His usage of Hisagi's name without an honorific was deliberate. He saw Madarame relax. The interesting thing was that he saw Ise-kun and Iba-kun relax as well. More than one of them was aware of the fact that this could well be another trap.

"We have time. Let's prepare. Our objectives are to get what meat we can out of this nut, and to keep ourselves as safe as possible in the process, in that order. Let's go."

They came up with a suitable scenario to present to this Jeagerjaques, and worked together on several lines of questioning that Sasakibe could use. It was clear from the reports that Jyuushiro would not make the right first impression. The whole group joined in the planning, and when that was done, Jyuushiro sent Madarame and Hinamori-kun to escort the prisoner from Shiba Kuukaku's base.

That was when they evacuated all but the lieutenants from the old house, moving them on to a hunters' lodge in the mountains owned by the elders of the Kuchiki family. The Great Families didn't mind taking advantage of the trained shinigami in keeping Hollow incursions down, so the benefits were mutual. There was no use risking more than had to be risked.

He sent Iba-kun with them as the commanding officer. While the vice-captain had been physically crippled, his thinking was clear, and everyone respected him and his courage. A single look between them, and a smile on Iba-kun's part made it all right that Jyuushiro would be the only one to slow the lieutenants down if a trap were sprung.

Jyuushiro settled against his cushions in the window bay at the edge of the room. When he felt comfortable, he reached over to the paper screen next to him and put a fingertip through the paper at his eye level.

They'd put screens all around the room, making a neat octagon in the center. Sasakibe sat seiza with his back to the fireplace, the sole visible person, with a clear space for the prisoner before him. He wore his own uniform. No one believed the prisoner would know enough to respect a captain's haori or even understand what it was. There were no refreshments, no sign of softness. No need to give this Grimmjow Jeagerjaques any handholds.

Hinamori-kun slid into the room, gave Sasakibe a quick nod, and then slipped behind one of the panels.

The door slid open. A decent level of reiatsu rolled in, belligerent, angry. Following it was a blindfolded, blue-haired man who stumbled over the threshold. For just an instant, Jyuushiro envied the power, the grace of that body. Then that mouth opened. "Fuck you, asshole, at least warn me."

The shove Madarame gave the well-muscled figure sent him sprawling to the floor in front of Sasakibe. Sasakibe sighed, reached forward and plucked the blindfold away, revealing bright blue eyes that quickly narrowed in calculation under Sasakibe's steady gaze.

"You're the man, huh?" There was a hesitation, and the moment passed when the young man should have bowed or introduced himself. Then the next moment passed when Sasakibe-san, if he were to bend to the younger man's will, should have bowed or introduced _himself_.

Sasakibe didn't move, simply staring down at the young man. Madarame stepped into the room, closed the door, and leaned silently against the doorjamb, watching: the unseen weight of his reiatsu was added to the energy seething about the room.

After five minutes, Jeagerjaques shifted, and his eyes dropped. "Shit. I'm..." He took a deep breath and growled, "You can call me Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, and I've got a message for you from Hisagi Shuuhei."

"Then give it."

The lack of courtesy made Grimmjow's head go up. He opened his mouth as if on reflex, and then suddenly closed it again, swallowing. "Why the hell should I?"

Sasakibe cocked his head. "I haven't killed you, yet. And I've had to let my men kill half a dozen of others in order to get you and Sado-kun safely here."

Grimmjow snorted. "You shoulda done that anyway."

Madarame tensed at that phrasing. The spike to his reiatsu made Grimmjow look over his shoulder.

"I've had a really bad day," Madarame drawled. "I don't need even half a reason to beat the shit outta you."

"As if."

Sasakibe cut in, "At your present strength, he could put your spine through your skull, Jaegerjaques. Stop fucking around."

The curse word coming off those strictly formal lips, above that strictly formal uniform, gave Grimmjow pause. Jyuushiro nodded: this was going along one of the conversational branches they'd hoped for.

Those perfectly even white teeth gritted on themselves as Grimmjow ground his jaw. "How the hell do I know ya won't do that after I tell ya?"

"What do you know about Hueco Mundo?" Sasakibe asked evenly. "Numbers of Hollows at each level? What is Aizen doing? What plans are in motion? What orders have you gotten in the last month? We're interested in all those things, and you are valuable so long as you tell us things we don't know."

Jyuushiro saw Grimmjow's shoulders relax. "Whatcha gonna do about my powers? My strength?"

"We will give you whatever training you need, and whatever partners you want to spar against. That's the only way you'll build your capabilities here."

Grimmjow's lips curled in a snarl of disdain. "So you don't got anyone as smart as Szayel or Kurotsuchi here?"

Sasakibe hid the flinch well. He laughed, a huff of breath. "No. We simply find that strengths won through achievement aren't quite as... fleeting as those engineered by other means. As you now well know."

Grimmjow shook his head once and then sighed. "All right, you got me."

"So what was Hisagi's message?"

"He said that if there's half a dozen shinigami with shikai, he needs them to go a way he knows through the palace to kill Aizen. Said you gotta act now, and he'll be lookin' for you when you come. He especially wanted someone that's never seen Aizen release his zanpakutou, and said that it's gotta be before Aizen's done."

"Done with what?"

"How the hell am I supposed ta know? He didn't say."

"What was Aizen working on?" Sasakibe prodded.

Grimmjow shrugged. "I dunno. I'm no ass-kissin' foot sitter. Didn't really need to listen, just whack anything I was pointed at." At an exasperated sigh from Sasakibe-san, Grimmjow shrugged again. "Well, he's havin' the mad scientists doin' a lotta experiments. I remember them shouting at each other all the time, and it only got interestin' once when they both drew."

"Experiments? What kind of experiments?"

"How am I supposed ta know? It's not like I like watchin' that kinda shit." Grimmjow shifted uncomfortably. "I'm a fighter, not someone that fucks around with...well... you know...."

"Do you know the subjects of the experiments?"

"Mostly folks Ichimaru ships him, and some of the folks he'd locked up after that fake Karakura fell over and broke."

Jyuushiro closed his eyes as the shock in everyone's reiatsu went through the room. Some of the missing had been captured? They hadn't even discussed that possibility.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed. He was still reiatsu-gifted, so he must have felt that change in the atmosphere of the room. "Huh. Rats in hiding, huh? You know that place broke up.... oh, the prisoners. Well, you all know about that big reiatsu woman tradin' herself in, right? Well, they started on her..."

There was a gasp of horror from the screen Isane hid behind, and Jyuushiro half wished he'd kept her by his side. But now the grim surprise was palpable from everyone.

Grimmjow smirked. "But she went crazy, broke outta the place, and ran off. Ain't no one can get her back, either. Ya wouldn'ta thought she'd get so fierce."

Sasakibe reluctantly asked, "Are there others as well?"

"There's two big juicy ones deep in the cellars, but they wouldn't let me fight 'em, and I think he's savin' 'em for something."

"He caught just the two?"

"Nah. There were more, but little fry."

"How many?"

"Some?" Grimmjow shrugged. "I dunno. Seemed like a few got thrown in the cells; but we didn't see any on the way out behind Hisagi."

Even Sasakibe took a moment to absorb that. His hands gripped and then relaxed on the hilt of his zanpakutou. Then he went on. "What of your Arrancar ranks? Do you know how many fell?"

"Oh, yeah. Tons of Fraccions, and you got Nnoitra, Stark, Barragan, Zommari, and Aarioniero. Barragan was a real motherfucker of a destroyer. The rest, eh, not much of a loss. Never did see why such a lazy ass got to be number one, even if he did beat the hell outta me that one time. Aizen's gettin' some new ones to fill in. Harribel lost her whole Fraccion, but she's got a pretty one taggin' along behind her now, feathers on his eye, slender and pretty enough to be a girl."

Killing intent flooded the room, as hot and fiery as a dragon's breath.

Grimmjow spun around. "Huh?"

Hinamori-kun popped back out from behind her screen, and tried to bodily 'help' Madarame out of the room. Ise-kun had to step out from behind her own screen before Madarame finally looked away from Grimmjow, and paid attention to the women and headed out the door before he did something he'd regret.

Grimmjow, on seeing Ise-kun, started.

Jyuushiro, screened away from his subordinates, away from anyone that might see, leaned back, feeling hollowed out himself by the implications of what the boy was saying. If that really had been Ayasegawa-kun, then they were turning captured high-level Shinigami into Hollows. Making them part of their ranks, and somehow getting them to obey Aizen's will just as all the other Hollows did.

"What other new Hollows have you seen around?" Sasakibe resumed.

Grimmjow shrugged as he turned away from the closing door. "Shit, I would have sworn she was there."

"She?"

Grimmjow pointed at a startled Ise-kun, caught on the way back to her screen. "That girl with the glasses and the black hair, but she doesn't feel like a Hollow and she doesn’t... she doesn't quite move like the one in Hueco Mundo. But I woulda sworn..."

Sasakibe swallowed, and looked in the direction of Jyuushiro's screen. This was going much further than any of them had anticipated.

"What was her name?" Jyuushiro asked in his roughened voice, pushing back the screen even as he let his reiatsu loose. He saw those impossibly blue eyes widen under the weight of his power. "It was not Lisa, was it?"

"It.... it was." Grimmjow turned to look at him.

Sasakibe and Ise-kun both moved between Jyuushiro and Grimmjow.

Jyuushiro watched the blue-haired man for a long moment. If there was going to be an attack it would be now, but it almost didn't matter. Knowing that there were also Hollowfied captains and vice-captains on Aizen's side made Jyuushiro feel very tired indeed. Yoruichi and Urahara had salvaged a few of the Vizards, but now they knew that Aizen had what seemed like fully functional ones. And not just 'functional' ones, but Lisa and colleagues they'd thought completely lost... He gathered his thoughts, and remembered a most dangerous loose end.

"What of an orange-haired boy? We know he bested you in battle, but after that we know very little."

"Oh, Ichigo, huh? He's got a full-on mask, now. He argues with Aizen nearly every day. But after beatin' pretty much everyone else to a pulp, he's the new Number 0, even Yami won't cross him. Don't know why the hell Aizen lets him get away with it; but it seems to make him do what Aizen wants."

"Were there others with him?"

"Nah. He doesn't have anyone around him. Even that Orihime chick seems to dig Ulquiorra more than him, now. He doesn't even have a Fraccion, the bastard's too stuck up for anyone now." Grimmjow looked a little distant at that, gaze dropping.

Jyuushiro took a breath and coughed into a cloth. "Was there more to Hisagi's message for us? A place or a time or date to meet him?"

Grimmjow shook his head. "No, he just said to be back fast, with as many people as could be spared." He ran one hand through his hair. "Didn't even give Sado or me any names or any particular place to get to, said we'd figure it out."

"How did he come across to you?"

Grimmjow shrugged. "Rushed, in a hurry, more high than scared, but that bastard's got balls with that act o' his."

"If it is an act," muttered Sasakibe.

"Do all you guys do this crazy shit?" Grimmjow asked, skeptically. "I mean, go in pretending that you..." He pointed at Sasakibe. "Are you..." He pointed at Jyuushiro. "... and then you fuck it all up by just giving it away? You're the real guy, aren't you?"

Jyuushiro bowed his head. "By that I assume you mean that Hisagi having given himself away is reverting to how you see our methods?" The blue-haired man nodded a jerky, quick nod. "There might be hope for us all yet." Jyuushiro then added, "You may call me Ukitake Jyuushiro, Captain of... one of the Captains of the Gotei 13. Did the two juicy ones have powers equivalent to mine?"

Grimmjow had to think a little, eyes shifting away in a manner remarkably like Madarame's first look, and then he nodded. "Yeah... but you wouldn't be no fun in a fight."

Jyuushiro had to laugh at that. "You have me there, Jeagerjaques."

He coughed hard on the heels of his laughter, and the coughing went on long enough that Grimmjow shifted again, looking away. Neither of Jyuushiro's vice-captains relaxed their stances, he noticed approvingly.

Jyuushiro continued after his coughing stopped. "We have much to discuss and some reckoning to be done on your account. I'm afraid we're not entirely through questioning you, but I must discuss a few things with my staff before we can be sure we have what we need. In return, there's more that I can give you as an incentive for all this. There's an acquaintance of mine who taught Kurotsuchi everything he knows and kept the rest for himself. He made the Hōgyoku."

Grimmjow started up at the last.

Jyuushiro gave him a steady look. "He'd be fascinated by you, and might be able to help you."

Grimmjow showed his teeth in an expression that held no humor to it. "He'd better."

* * *

The meeting started with Madarame putting his fist through one of the walls. "Why the fuck aren't we just going? Inoue Orihime can change people back, we've seen that. Just go, kill Aizen, get her, and get them all back."

The anger masked an anguish that bit deep.

"What if he's lying?" Ise-kun started. "What if this is all just a setup?"

Madarame snorted. "Do you honestly think that idiot could lie?"

Sasakibe added, "He certain didn't seem the type to be able to make up complex stories or wish to tell them."

"Aizen could have made him see anything he wanted him to see." Ise-kun said softly. "It could all be a trap."

"And even if it is for real, how can we act on it? Those who have achieved shikai can't even walk in groups without getting spotted by Ichimaru's people." Hinamori-kun waved her hands about. "How are we going to get half a dozen of us off at once without them knowing and coming after us?"

"It may help us all if Urahara-kun can take a good look at the changed young man," Jyuushiro interjected. "To verify his story, and maybe figure out a mechanism we can use to reverse the affects of his creation."

"He fucking caused all this in the first place by making that thing!" Madarame yelled. "Why the hell are we trusting him now?"

Sasakibe's crisp tones cut in. "He has not gone to Aizen. He helped us time and again. He has kept down Hollows and moved the dead on from the living world. He's cooperated with us in every way when it has put him in jeopardy with the effective rulers of Soul Society. Why shouldn’t we trust Urahara?"

"Because he was branded a traitor before our eyes, and sent into exile for an experiment that has been the key to Aizen's success," Jyuushiro said quietly. "We don't know what his agenda is for the long term. Knowing that they'd torture his secrets from him if they caught him may be all that keeps him expediently on our side."

"Or he may be a shinigami who simply remembers his first duty," Hinamori-kun said, "even when the Chamber of 46 turned against him."

Jyuushiro nodded and sighed.

Isane's tentative tones broke into the silence. "It's... it is good, isn't it, to know that there might be two Captains still alive?"

Jyuushiro saw Ise-kun's eyes close for a moment. He turned his attention to Isane. "If one thinks about what they're going through, it's not helpful. We know Aizen's people are far more brutal than we are about extracting information and they must know about the experiments, it could be very bad for someone in their hands. It is oddly encouraging to understand that even after being changed and possibly deranged, Unohana-taichou still managed to break free of Aizen's control."

Isane's face went pale.

Jyuushiro touched the healer's hand gently. "Even so, my own recent experiences with death leads me to add that, yes, they may well lend us hope simply by their existence. The living can effect changes that the dead no longer have the choice to pursue." He took a deep breath and looked around the ring about him. "I believe we must pursue this chance."

Everyone looked back at him, Madarame with a quick, hard nod. Ise-kun folded her arms before her, and Sasakibe leaned back, away from the center of the circle.

"But Hinamori-kun brings up a very good objection, and I need all the good objections you can find right now so that we can best increase our chances of obtaining the objectives Madarame here has outlined. Kill Aizen. Return our people to themselves."

"What if the real purpose is to lure the strongest of us from being around you, and then try to kill you when we're away?" Sasakibe asked.

"What can we do?" Isane asked, looking troubled.

"Let's use that," Jyuushiro said quietly, even as he began to feel his pulse quicken. "We know that they wish to capture me, ne?" Everyone around him nodded. "Then why don't we give me to them? Use me as the distraction for the team that hits Aizen."

The whole room erupted.

Jyuushiro had to smile as they all started giving reasons why it would or wouldn't work. He carefully kept them on the track to figuring out how to make it work, and if there were things that were wrong or too risky, how to either mitigate the risk or work around the problem. This was much better than dwelling on the whole of the situation, and the misgivings within his heart.

It was later that evening, after a rough ride out to the hunters' lodge, and all the things that went with moving again, when Isane came to put him to bed, that she spoke to that heart of his.

"You're trying to die, aren't you?" Isane stated.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jyuushiro said, as he washed his brush out. He watched the black ink spread through the water like clouds. He carefully swirled it through, got another measure of water and cleaned it again. Good brushes were hard to find now.

"Making yourself bait with just myself and Hinamori with you: you've kept all the cripples and would spare yourself not at all."

"Do you believe Hinamori-kun is a cripple?" Jyuushiro looked up in surprise.

Isane blushed. "I take it that you agree with my assessment of myself, then?"

Jyuushiro nodded quietly, and saw her fists close for a moment before her hands opened again. Gently he said, "You are crippled. You know it as well, and if I said otherwise, you'd know I was lying, just as I'd know you were lying if you said I was whole. You've been wounded in heart and soul and courage, Isane. When your captain forced you to leave her, she didn't let you fight the fight you needed to fight for your own pride. I want you by my side so that you can have that fight."

"Even if that means you'll lose?"

Jyuushiro nodded, composed. "I would differ with you over your wording. While I am not afraid of dying, I am no longer seeking it out. I honestly believe this is our best chance. I do not believe we will lose, and we may win for everyone by taking out a very large portion of Gin's forces. I am playing for bigger stakes than just our lives."

"So you do think we have a chance of having a direct fight with them, of dying ourselves," Isane said accusingly. "You should keep one of the fighters with you, Sasakibe-san or Madarame-san."

"Sasakibe needs to lead everyone else, and do you really think I could keep Madarame from going after Ayasegawa-kun?"

Isane's gaze dropped.

"That said, he'd be useless here, knowing what he could be doing there, ne?"

She nodded.

"Then, we shall have to make use of what we have. You need to train. I need to do some research."

"What of Ise-san? She could stay, and she's... she's much stronger than I am and she loves researching things for you."

Jyuushiro sighed. "Which Captains do we know went missing? The ones we did not see die before our own eyes or have a report to that effect?"

Isane paused, counted. He could see her going through the numbers, the list in her mind and then her eyes went wide. "Oh."

He nodded sadly. "Oh."

"I..." Isane paused, swallowed, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. "I guess she has to go because you can't."

Jyuushiro closed his eyes, took a breath around that pain, and then nodded. "Yes." He took another breath and then added, "And if Hisagi is a liar, intent on destroying everyone that goes, I may also lose her."


	7. Orihime: Despair and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast in Hueco Mundo. - by incandescens

ORIHIME: DESPAIR AND HOPE

 

Ulquiorra was sitting with her today. It was very kind of him, Orihime reminded herself, because he was a very important person (he was Second Espada now, just fancy!) and had many important things to do. She should be grateful that he was generous enough to take the time to watch over her and make sure that she didn't do anything silly.

He seemed a little distracted, though. His attention wasn't on her as she ate. His eyes were focused elsewhere, considering and detached.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked nervously.

With a perceptible shift of attention he focused on her, dark eyes like holes in his face. "Should there be?" he asked.

"You're thinking about something," she said. It was permissible to talk to him now that he had answered her, rather than simply ignoring her.

He considered. "Yes," he finally said. "Grimmjow is still missing."

Orihime flushed, lowering her eyes. She remembered the session when she had been supposed to try to increase Grimmjow's powers. She remembered him shouting at her, threatening her . . . and then nothing.

"If he remains on his hunt much longer, it will irritate Aizen-sama," Ulquiorra said. There was no irritation in _his_ voice, though. If anything, there was a controlled satisfaction at the thought of Grimmjow stepping outside his limits one time too many.

Ulquiorra didn't need to speak for Orihime to know how much he despised Grimmjow.

"Maybe . . . maybe something might have attacked him?" she offered.

"Why do you think that?" Ulquiorra inquired. It wasn't a trap in the way that some of them liked playing. He honestly wanted an answer from her.

Orihime thought before speaking. It seemed more difficult to think these days. A year ago, when there had been school and friends and sunlight and fresh air, she could join ideas together into a brilliant sparking firework of concept and ideal. She could tell stories. She could dream. These days she had to watch her thoughts so very carefully. She couldn't think about some things, or some people, or some faces, or she would start crying and then it was very hard to stop. The last time that had happened, one of the healers from Fourth Division had been called and he had given her some drugs that had finally let her sleep without the dreams.

One of the thoughts that she wouldn't let herself think involved finding more of those drugs and then sleeping again and not waking up this time.

"Because Grimmjow always wants to fight," she finally said, "and that was probably why he went out hunting. And he wouldn't have any reason to stay out there unless there was fighting. And if there wasn't any fighting then he'd probably come back to challenge," she couldn't say Kurosaki-kun, she couldn't, because it wasn't _him_ any more, "Espada 0 again. So the only reason for him to still be out there would be if he was still fighting or if something attacked him."

"Logical," Ulquiorra said. She relaxed under the lack of his disapproval. "There is said to be a new Hollow roaming the area, possibly even a Vastolorde. It would be inconvenient if he had encountered it."

"Have the patrols seen anything?" she asked.

"No. They have seen nothing of him and felt nothing of his reiatsu." Disapproval showed in the thin downturn of his mouth. "It may be necessary for a more powerful search to be mounted."

"Of course," Orihime said, and took another bite of her breakfast. It was very plain, but she chewed and swallowed. Aizen-sama wanted her live for at least a little longer, and so Ulquiorra wanted her to eat, and so she ate.

"There is another matter," Ulquiorra said.

Orihime looked up at him again, her stomach lurching. Had she somehow done something wrong? Did Aizen-sama have another mission for her?

"One of the prisoners has vanished," Ulquiorra said, paying out each word with slow deliberate precision. "One of the human ones. Sado Yasutora."

Orihime could feel the colour draining from her face. She'd known that he at least was alive, they'd told her that much, and Aizen-sama had even promised that maybe if Sado was no longer a threat to him, then he'd let Orihime see him, and maybe even let him go -- and the thought was something that she kept for the coldest days and the longest nights, the thought that they hadn't _all_ died while they were trying to save her.

Useless her. Worthless her.

"Continue eating," Ulquiorra instructed her. "You have grown thin and weak. You must remain strong."

"Yes," Orihime agreed tonelessly, and lifted her spoon to her mouth again.

Ulquiorra watched her eat another couple of mouthfuls before continuing. "We are not sure whether he has been removed by Kurotsuchi's agents," he said, "or by Szayel's, or if he managed to escape on his own. Or if he was helped."

His eyes were like obsidian knives. No, obsidian laser beams. The thought dropped into her head in a sudden splash of action (superheroine Aqua-Orihime bursts out of the water in an incredible seafoam avalanche of motion!) like a gift from the person she had been once, before all of this, before the white corridors and the sunless sky. Obsidian laser beams in his android body, because Super-Android Ulquiorra is made all of plastic and stone.

_(if he managed to escape on his own, or if he was helped)_

She swallowed, then shook her head. "I didn't even know that he was gone until you told me," she said. Her voice was calm and even. Everything else had drained out of it.

She was not going to allow herself to think about hope, not even for a moment.

Ulquiorra stared at her a little longer, just enough to make her wonder if he could see something in her that she didn't know, and then nodded. "I realise that. Your behaviour has been adequate. You show no signs of treason. However, others felt it necessary that you should be asked."

"Others?" Orihime said. She couldn't even pretend to sound surprised.

Ulqiuorra shrugged. "Neither Szayel nor Kurotsuchi will claim responsibility. He was one of your friends, before you came into Aizen-sama's service."

_Before._

Depair had built walls around her, shielding her from the _before_ so that she didn't have to think about it, and barring her from the _after_ so that she didn't have to think about eternity inside these walls and in this slavery. She had accepted those walls. It would be almost a worse pain than she could imagine to let them down again.

She could not even imagine _escape_ , not for herself.

But perhaps she could begin to think about it.

Over the weeks and months she had drifted into silence. She had spoken to nobody except whoever was watching over her that day. Aizen-sama had no time for her. Ulquiorra kept her safe from Kurotsuchi-taichou -- no, he was just Kurotsuchi-sama now, even if they all called him Kurotsuchi-sama, he couldn't be a shinigami captain any more -- and from Szayel-sama. Nobody else had anything to say to her.

If she was even going to begin thinking about possibilities, about the future, about escape (and how the thought terrified her), then she needed to know what was going on.

The defences that she had built for herself over the months, the detachment and weariness, kept her voice quiet and her manner cowed and obedient. "That was before," she said. "Aizen-sama said that I could see him when he was . . . when he was better. I hadn't tried to go anywhere near him. I had been ordered not to."

Ulquiorra nodded, satisfied (she could read that much in his manner and his posture) by her repetition and acceptance of orders. "Yes. You are correct."

She ate a last bite, then put the spoon down. Her brain was full of whirring empty wheels and wings, and she thought that she could hear the Shun Shun Rikka chatting just out of earshot. "Ulquiorra . . ."

"Yes?" he said.

"I am grateful that you look after me." She was. She had grown accustomed to his presence. He was like cold stone, leeching the heat out of her body as she sat there in his presence, like black drenching rain in autumn, but at least he had never hurt her. He judged her and he disapproved of her and he held her in contempt, but while she was still worthwhile to Aizen-sama, she was therefore worthwhile to Ulquiorra.

It mattered that she should be worthwhile to someone.

He nodded dismissively. "I am ordered to do so."

She tried to think how she would have persuaded Tatsuki (and at least she was safe, she had to be safe), or Kurosaki-kun (but the mask was on a stranger's face), or Ishida-kun (they hadn't let her see the body, they hadn't let her see the body, they hadn't even let her see the body), or . . . "I need to prove that I am loyal to Aizen-sama," she said, the words coming from that sea of calm and distance that she had been floating in for months now. "Other people will be suspicious. He has been gracious to me. There has to be something that I can do."

Ulquiorra considered that, his eyes unblinking as a lizard's. "Aizen-sama has no time for you at the moment," he finally said. "He is busy elsewhere. But your attitude is an improvement. You recognise your place?"

Orihime bowed her head. "I am Aizen-sama's servant. I only seek to obey him and do his will."

"I will consider it." He rose to his feet. "I have matters to attend to. You will accompany me." Her obedience must have pleased him, somewhere, somehow, for he added, "If you have anything of value to say while you are present, then you may speak."

"Thank you, Ulquiorra," Orihime answered.

_(if he managed to escape on his own, or if he was helped)_

She was afraid to hope. It would be safer to despair, and to trust Ulquiorra, and to obey.

But. But. But. The word was as soft in the back of her head as the pad of Ulquiorra's steps as he led her down the corridor. All the white corridors and all the sunless skies in the world couldn't wipe away that single moment of possibility and change.

But maybe she could think about hoping, just a little, when nobody was watching, and when even Ulquiorra couldn't see it.


	8. Karin: Keeping up Appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karin's life would be so much easier if she didn't have to pretend everything was normal.
> 
> by Sophia Prester

**Karin: Keeping up Appearances**

"Stop following me, already! Jeez..." Karin tugged her cap lower over her forehead and pulled her scarf up over her nose. The wool itched, but the warmth of her own breath felt good against the numbed tip of her nose. She picked up her pace, hoping to get some distance between them. With all the dodging she had to do, it didn't really work.

"How can I be following you if we're both going to the grocery store? Yuzu did ask us _both_ to go. I'm here to help you, right?" It was clearly and aggravatingly reasonable, but Karin still dismissed the protest as whining.

"I don't need your help."

The disgusted _chuff_ of breath sounded so much like something Ichi-nii would do that Karen looked over her shoulder before she could stop herself.

It wasn't Ichi-nii, no matter how much it looked like him. It was only stupid Kon, trailing just a pace behind her no matter how fast she walked. He simply ignored most of the people Karin sidestepped. Or maybe he just didn't see them.

It wasn't her brother, and Karin wished he would stop pretending he was. He wasn't even doing a very good job of it any more. He had even let his hair start to get too long and floppy. Yeah, old goat-chin didn't seem to notice anything (like he ever would), but Yuzu looked like she might be getting suspicious now.

Two of Ichigo's friends waved at them from across the street. Karin studiously ignored them, but Kon was quick with a 'Yo, Keigo! Mizuiro!' and to reassure Keigo yes, they were still on for tonight.

Morons.

It probably shouldn't surprise her that most people didn't see that the thing wearing her brother's body wasn't her brother. After all, most people probably thought the sidewalks were pretty empty for a Saturday.

To Karin, though, they were hellishly crowded. If she didn't know better, if she didn't know what she was looking at, she would have thought that wearing a big chain dangling from the middle of your chest was the latest fad.

Karin really, really hated walking _through_ them. Hated it to the point where she didn't care if the living thought it was weird if she took a very crooked path down the sidewalk or sometime stopped in her tracks for no reason at all.

The other day, at a crosswalk on the way to school, she had to wait through two cycles of the light to cross because the intersection was just that crowded.

It wasn't just ghosts, either. Karin barely flinched when a too-familiar shriek cut through the cold air. Some of the savvier ghosts scattered, a few even running into the streets. Most of the cars just cut right through them, but a couple swerved to avoid people who weren't really there.

Karin looked around, mostly up, straining to hear another shriek and waiting to feel a tug of nausea in her belly. This was happening four, maybe five times a day, now.

There was another nails-on-chalkboard howl, but it came from further away and was trailing off. She sagged in relief, but then nearly shot ten feet up in the air when a hand clapped down on her shoulder.

"What the heck do you think you're doing, jackass!" Karin held a mittened hand to the base of her throat, willing the racing pulse to settle down already.

Kon was not at all apologetic. "There's a Hollow out there. I'm supposed to look after you two," he said. "Your bro--"

"Well, go look after Yuzu, then!" She pushed his hand away and started walking again. "She needs it. I don't. And what could _you_ do against a Hollow, anyway?"

"I could kick it in the head!" he boasted.

Whatever. Knowing him, he'd run away first.

* * *

The shopping took twice as long as if she had been on her own. After they paid, she took just one bag, leaving the other three with Kon. Served him right for stopping to flirt with the checkout girl.

Karin was nearly a block from the grocery store when she realized something was missing. She did an about-face and marched right back to the store. Sure enough, Kon was loitering at the newsstand next to the grocery, contemplating a thick, glossy magazine.

"If you're going to stop, then tell me, dummy! I could have been halfway home before I knew you were gone!"

Kon just got a sour look on his face (he couldn't even scowl properly), then turned back to his magazine. "I thought you wanted me to stop following you. Make up your mind already."

Karin jumped at the magazine, but Kon lifted it out of reach. "I don't want you messing up my brother's reputation because you can't stop perving all over the place!"

Kon gave her an affronted look. "It's just a copy of _Vogue_. They keep all the good stuff in the back."

Karin tried not to connect the dots to figure out how he knew that. She really did.

"Besides, how can I perv over this?" he groused, smacking the magazine with the back of his hand. "She's a fashion model. Please. They don't have any tits worth speaking of. See?"

He held the magazine in front of her, but she wasn't looking. Or listening. She had her eyes crunched shut and the heels of her hands pressed tight to her ears.

"If you start going 'la la la I don't hear you' again, I'll tell Yuzu you were being a pill." He sniffed. "I might tell her, anyway. You were being mean to me in the grocery store."

"You kept talking to people." Ichi-nii would have just grunted and moved on. He also wouldn't sound so whiny.

"Friends of the family," he pointed out. "And they talked to me first."

Friends of _my_ family, Karin wanted to say, but that was an argument they'd had too many times already. She always won the argument, of course, but it didn't seem to make any difference.

Maybe things would have been different if Ichi-nii had simply told her he was leaving someone behind to take his place while he was off... wherever. But no, he'd left her to figure it out and have to be lied to for weeks by Kon and Urahara and everyone else until she'd finally got Ururu to spill the beans.

Kon put the magazine back in the rack, all but petting it goodbye. He picked up his share of the grocery bags, not whining about it for once. "C'mon Karin-chan. Let's go home. It's cold. Too cold to be looking at bikini babes." He squinted up at a dead gray sky. "I think I just saw a snowflake. Hey! I did! Can you believe it? Snow in--hey! Wait up!"

Maybe if she pretended he didn't exist, he'd just go away. They were only a few blocks from home. Once they dropped off the groceries, she could go up to her room or maybe go out and see her friends. Maybe have dinner over at one of their places instead of having to sit through another session of watching Dad and Yuzu treat this bozo as if he really was Ichi-nii.

Couldn't they see? What was the matter with them? Couldn't they tell that everything was all wrong? Even Yuzu was seeing ghosts more clearly now, getting agitated and jumpy on the way to school, constantly saying 'excuse me' to people who weren't there.

And Dad... Yeah, Dad was an idiot like always, but Karin sometimes wondered if he knew something was off. Some days, she barely saw him at all and in the mornings, she would see his dinner in the refrigerator where Yuzu had left it, untouched. He didn't joke around as much anymore.

Or maybe he could tell she wasn't in the mood for his stupid antics. The last time he tried that, she'd run up to her room instead of kicking him in the head.

He hadn't joked around in front of her after that. Well, a little. Sometimes. But not the way he used to. And one day, after she'd walked through the kitchen and heard him laughing, and Yuzu scolding, she almost ran up to him to tell him it was okay--she didn't mind him horsing around and acting like a clown and trying to get them to laugh.

But yeah... The old goat was a lot quieter now. Karin brushed a melted snowflake away from her eye.

And Yuzu? Yuzu was Yuzu, but fretful, absentmindedly pulling dishrags to pieces as she told her family to hurry in to dinner.

If Yuzu thought anything was off about their 'brother,' she didn't show it. In fact, she sometimes clung to him like he was an overgrown version of one of those stupid stuffed animals of hers.

If only he would just _go away_.

She ignored him calling out after her as long as she could, but he caught up with her and pulled her to a halt.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he hissed, almost whispering. "I've been trying to get you to stop before you walk right into them."

"I'm looking where I'm going," she snarled back at him.

"No, you're not. See?" He plunked a hand on the top of her head and forced her to look a bit up and to the left, at an apartment building on the street she was just about to cross. "Betcha that's why we heard the other Hollow getting its tail out of here."

Karin started to protest that she wasn't about to walk _right into_ them, but then she really looked at what Kon was showing her. The snow, though barely more than a flurry, now fell steadily enough that she kept having to blink away flakes. It made it hard to focus properly, so at first, Karin thought the apartment balcony was crowded with ghosts. Not too unusual, these days. And besides, they looked like people--sort of. But some of them had horns coming out of their heads. And the dark things on their chests and bellies and necks weren't chains. They were holes.

"Hollows? Those can't be hollows," she protested. "Can they?"

They looked too human to be hollows. And they were intent on something, so intent that they might not notice if she crossed the street just like any other person on her way home with groceries.

" _Karin_." Kon grabbed at the back of her parka as she stepped forward, nearly causing her to fall back on her butt. "Those aren't regular Hollows."

She twisted out of his grip easily enough. "I just want to see what they're doing. They don't look as scary. They're only small ones."

"That means they're _stronger_." Something in his voice made her turn to look up at him. He looked intent, focused, and almost angry--and uncomfortably familiar. He studied the group on the balcony through narrowed eyes. The softness that marked him as Kon disappeared for one horrible second. "And that's Chad's old apartment building. They're right in front of his door... and shit, one just went inside. I don't get it. Why here? Why now?"

"Well, let's find out what's going on." The light at the crosswalk changed and she trotted off across the street.

She didn't even see Kon move. But he was right there on the other side of the street before she got halfway across.

"No. You are _not_ doing this," he hissed. He held out the grocery bags. "You are going to take these back to Yuzu-chan and I'll go find someone else who can actually deal with this and maybe not get killed."

She tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her path. "You're just being a coward. That's Ichi-nii's friend's place. You said so yourself."

"And he's not there." Feint. Block. "C'mon Karin-chan. Ichigo wouldn't want you to get involved with that. He'd want you to stay safe."

Karin swung out with her grocery bag, catching him square in the chest. She thought she heard something go _squish_.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" she shrieked. "Stop calling me Karin-chan, you stupid freak! Stop pretending you're my brother! You're just a... you're not even _real_!"

Kon's shock lasted long enough for her to push past him and take off down the sidewalk and around the corner. She turned down the first side street she found, hoping that he hadn't caught up with her enough to see where she had gone.

Her hiding place was a service alley more than a street, and it smelled bad, like old vegetable trimmings and cat pee. It was also cold back there, with no sunlight reaching down to melt the skin of ice on the puddles. That didn't stop her from hiding behind a pallet of boxes and sitting down on the filthy asphalt. She hugged her knees to her chest and ducked her head.

Stupid. So stupid. Now she'd have to explain to Yuzu about the groceries. And explaining meant lying.

If Ichigo had just been gone, it would have been easier. Then she could just tell Yuzu how much she missed him, and how not knowing what had happened to him make her stomach twist like there was an army of Hollows outside.

Stupid Kon. She hated him. Hated him so much she had to bite down on her fist to keep from screaming.

She crowded back as far as she could, counting her breaths and trying to ignore all of the ghosts who wandered past. Some sensed her, and paused out of curiosity, but eventually went away when she refused to notice them. If she focused on her breathing, she could keep from crying.

Explaining ruined groceries to Yuzu was bad enough; Karin refused to explain tears.

Maybe a couple of minutes passed--just long enough for her butt to get cold, but not so long she was tempted to get up again--when another ghost came by. This one stopped right in front of her and didn't seem to be inclined to leave. She tried ignoring it, but it breathed awfully loud for a ghost, and when she finally lifted her head, she saw that its feet were in a puddle, displacing the water. The snow fell in front of him and on him, and not through him.

Not a ghost.

"I swear I checked this alley twice already," Kon said, panting. "I must have looked in _dozens_ of stores and twenty alleys."

Liar. Karin hid her face again. "Go away."

"Nuh-uh. Your brother asked me to look after your ungrateful hide while he was off... wherever," Kon snarled, "leaving you without a word. And I'm going to do what he said, okay? Hell, I'd do it even if he hadn't asked."

Kon's barely restrained annoyance with Ichigo prickled something deep inside her. Something dark and squiggly that she didn't want to think about too much.

"C'mon, Karin-cha... Karin. Let's go home, okay?" he said wearily. He held out a hand, but she didn't take it. She sat absolutely still, listening.

Kon sighed. "Just for once, can you not--"

She held up a hand, shushing him.. "Can you hear it? Hear them?" she whispered.

Kon went still, looking around slowly, wide-eyed.

_There was something... came close, then retreated--not far... over here... you sure?... just coincidence... want to be the one to explain to Aizen-sama if it is not? Over here..._

The voices, all different, but all having that howling note that she could feel in her gut, grew closer.

_Do you feel it? Over here?_

Kon mouthed something incredibly obscene.

 _Yes. Over **here**..._.

Why did she have to pick a blind alley? The pallet of boxes wouldn't protect her for long. Kon looked up, but Karin didn't see any fire escapes or anything.

She stood up and looked around for a rock, a length of pipe, _anything_. Maybe even a door that wasn't padlocked.

Kon scooped her up without warning, one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and as she squirmed and hit and tried to wriggle free, he spoke in a rush. "Okay, Karin, for once you are going to do exactly what I tell you to do and what I'm telling you to do is _hang on_."

The ground fell away beneath them. So did Karin's stomach.

She would have liked to have been able to say that she didn't scream.

"Stop squirming," Kon said through gritted teeth. "My arms aren't as strong as my legs, okay?"

Given the way rooftops were flashing past beneath her like yellow lines on a highway, Karin thought that maybe not squirming was a good idea.

At these speeds, the chill air cut horribly and the snow stung like chips of ice. She told itself it was only for warmth that she curled closer into Kon's chest as they zigged and zagged above Karakura.

Because--and she admitted this to herself only a little grudgingly--under other circumstances, this would have been fun.

"Here's hoping those things don't think to look up. And that I confused the trail enough." Another long jump, one that felt like falling, and they were coursing along a lower section of rooftops. The taller buildings of the business district were now well over a mile behind them. "And that they weren't built for speed," he panted.

Karin tried to laugh, but it was hard to get a breath. "Knew you'd run away if you saw a Hollow."

Kon spared a second to glare down at her. "That almost sounded like a joke. Now hold on--we're coming in for a landing."

He came to a stop so quickly Karin knew she'd have a headache for days. Kon turned and set her down gently, steadying her until her legs stopped wobbling.

Okay... wasn't expecting this," he muttered, but only to himself. "You okay?" he asked Karin.

"Yeah. I guess." Karin recognized where they were at once, although the location wasn't quite the same as the last time she'd been there. Even so, Urahara's shop looked as if it had been in its present location for years. The roof now had a fairly even dusting of snow, barring two still-dark footprints on the roof. The way the snow was falling now, the prints would disappear in a few minutes. The snow was also starting to stick to the ground in places.

It didn't take her long to see what it was that Kon wasn't expecting.

Jinta was standing on the porch, talking to a young woman Karin had never seen before. She wasn't that much taller than Karin herself, and had dark, rough-cropped hair that would have made her look like a boy if it weren't for the fuzzy pink sweater and close-fitting jeans.

She could have fit in with Ichi-nii's classmates if it weren't for the katana she had at her side. Or the stray flickers of a snapping, burning power Karin could see around her--and her sword. It reminded her of the cold, sharp power she had sometimes felt from Rukia, only inverted.

"Hey! Karin!" Jinta turned and waved. Ururu peeked out through the open door. "If you're looking for the boss, he's not here."

"He said he would be back for tea," Ururu said. It sounded like she was predicting a plague of frogs.

"I'll wait, then," said the woman. She sounded cheerful and tense at the same time, and the look she cast at Karin was both welcoming and suspicious. Warm brown eyes held more than a hint of steely cold. "Are you two friends of the shopkeeper?"

"We know Urahara, yeah." Kon was unusually on guard, and Karin couldn't tell if he wanted to step in front of her or hide behind her. "We've got something we need to tell him."

"You're a shinigami?" Karin asked.

The woman blinked in surprise, but nodded. She then looked at Jinta and Ururu for confirmation. Ururu nodded solemnly.

"They're okay." Ururu might have been saying they were a couple of zombies and that they were all doomed to die horribly.

"Hey, if you're looking for something to do while you're waiting, missy, there's a pack of Arrancar about a mile and and a half back," Kon said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "They were sniffing around Sado Yasutora's place for some reason, and then they got a whiff of Karin here. Can't tell you more than that, but we had to take off in a hurry."

"Arrancar?" Karin didn't miss the way all the warmth left the woman's eyes. "What's an Arrancar?"

"Bad news. On two fronts." The woman stepped down from the porch and walked over to Kon and Karin. Snow caught in the fuzz of her sweater and the rough spikiness of her hair. "Bad enough they're here at all, but now it sounds like they know Sado has escaped. We may have less time than we thought."

Escaped? Escaped from where? And if Sado disappeared at the same time Ichi-nii did...

The woman bowed, old fashioned and formal in a way that made her modern clothes look like a costume. "My name is Hinamori Momo. I'm sorry we have to meet like this, but I think we both got here at just the right time."

"Yeah. Sounds like it." Her voice was shakier than it should have been. "Nice to meet you, Hinamori-san. I'm Kurosaki Karin."

She had been about to introduce Kon, but she heard Hinamori's sharp intake of breath the instant she said _Kurosaki_.

"You know what happened to my brother," Karin said flatly.

She thought she would feel something more than this. She thought she would have yelled the words, or pleaded, or something. Instead, there was a question that wasn't a question, and Hinamori refusing to look her in the eye.

Kon's hand was still on her shoulder, and Karin leaned back against him, for once glad he was there.

"Would you all like to come inside and join the others for tea?" Ururu asked. Then, even though it was perfectly obvious and becoming even more obvious with each passing second: "It's snowing."

It sounded like a warning.

No one was in the mood for tea, but they all went inside anyway.


	9. Yoruichi: Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoruichi takes Urahara on a small hunt about Karakura. -- by liralenli

**Yoruichi: Hunting**

Yoruichi hunted through the cold winter streets of Karakura. The presence of Kisuke by her side made the familiar prowl through the neighborhoods and streets strange; but she needed to drag him out of his shop to see.

She glanced at him. He was in an outfit much like her form-fitting black, with a dark cloth wrapped about his face, covering his bright hair. His powerful build was obvious without his flowing shopkeeper's robes.

He watched the streets below.

Ghosts crowded the city. The scent of a Hollow wafted by, and she saw his hand move to his cane sword. She could also almost hear the systems in his head turning, changing, and growing as he took in this new information.

Centuries had passed since they'd done the work of common shinigami. It didn't help that she felt that sending a live soul, now, to Soul Society, might be a worse fate than leaving them here to go Hollow.

"Weeks, maybe months 'til they go Hollow... right?" she asked.

Kisuke followed her thought and nodded. "With no Don Kanoniji sticking sticks in them, yes. So, we just take out Hollows?"

"Right. We... owe that to the ghosts."

He laughed and she saw his breath puff white in the cold air. "Then you don't have to get your zanpakutou, either."

She chuckled and nodded.

They moved out, two city blocks between them, a block jump at a time. First they went in the direction of the scent they'd caught earlier. She took that one out with a single blow, and watched it dissolve up into the sky. Before it was even gone, ghosts had come out of hiding from all directions, and a few even cheered.

For a moment, she thought to ask them all to not mention she'd been here, but they wouldn't recognize her. Besides, it wasn't as if Aizen didn't know they were here. They'd already stopped two efforts to take the real city. While they had never agreed with how Soul Society had done things, they disagreed with Aizen killing their city even more.

She flashed on ahead and felt another Hollow disappear on Kisuke's side. There was nothing of Benihime's distinctive reiatsu signature, so either he wasn't using her, or he'd learned how to hide the strength he was using. It wasn't like these were taking much effort, but there were so _many_ of them. Nearly every block had some sort of Hollow, and as it became obvious what they were doing, the Hollows began to hide.

At an intersection, she stopped, gave a hand sign of "Slowing to Search" and he acknowledged it. She drew in a deep breath and saw a white flake gently drift down from the sky: more followed. Not enough, yet, to impede their work.

She started looking down dark alleys smelling of rot and piss. One Hollow roared out of a dumpster, slavering and stupid. She simply stepped aside from the charge and slammed a fist just behind its head, stunning it before flipping it... no, him... around so that she could break the mask.

And so they went, until...

... the power, the scent of them was so strong, that she reacted by flinging herself a block back, away from the source, and felt Kisuke do the same.

They met in an alleyway on the far side of that block, instinctively going for the shadows.

They simply looked at each other, nodded, and flashed back to the Urahara Shōten. For this, even they would need backup.

 


	10. Momo: Trust No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't count on anyone anymore. Not even her allies. -- by sophia_prester

**Momo: Trust No One**

  


The snow hitting the back of her neck stung. Momo had thought that the spiritual shielding offered by the gigai might also mean temporary relief from the healing burn, but the gigai had manifested the burn along with her too-short hair.

Ah, well. She had more important things to worry about.

She fell to the back of the group as they headed out of the snow and into the shop. Yes, it put her at risk of being jumped when she went in, but at least she would be prepared and she would have a clear path of escape.

 _They don't_ seem _like a threat._

It wasn't until Tobiume's hesitant comment that Momo realized what she had done. Or why.

 _Madarame-san's influence, I believe._ Tobiume was as polite as ever, her words whisper-crackling like wind through branches, or like a distant fire. Then, after a brief pause, a gentle but reproachful: _He isn't very trusting, is he?_

No, Ikkaku wasn't. And neither was she. Not anymore. The two other visitors didn't seem like a threat, but Momo had learned the hard way that 'seems' and 'is' were two very different things.

These people were probably safe, she thought, or safe enough. Tobiume agreed. In the end, that didn't keep Momo from moving her hand further down and thumbing Tobiume's guard free of the scabbard.

Just in case.

The thought felt defensive, and Momo could almost imagine Shiro-chan giving her a _look_ as she tried to explain herself. She could then see herself telling him to shut up even though he hadn't said anything, and from there it wound up as a spat when he made a sarcastic remark about her hair and how it got so short.

She didn't pull herself out of the daydream until a tart voice--her own--reminded her that she was supposed to be _alert_.

Momo pushed aside the impossible but comfortable conversation to revisit later--it didn't depart easily, but she needed to concentrate on the here and now, not the there and then.

Jinta barged into the shop, nearly knocking over the gloomy little girl who had just invited them in. Momo was fairly sure he had done so on purpose. Under cover of the ensuing squabble (Jinta was yelling at the girl for getting in his way even though she hadn't moved an inch) the child who'd introduced herself as Kurosaki Karin paused before going in, allowing the boy who was with her to go on ahead.

Karin didn't say anything. She did nothing more than look back over her shoulder for a scant second, barely making eye contact with Momo before turning away sharply and stalking in after the others. She may not have said anything, but Momo knew exactly what question was clanging through the girl's mind.

It was the same question she was still afraid to ask, even in the quiet of her own mind, where there was only Tobiume to hear.

Momo glanced quickly to the left and the right as she stepped into the shop's genkan, wondering if things were already spiraling out of control.

Control--like so many other things--was only an illusion, she reminded herself, but this didn't stop her heart from rocketing up into her throat when someone stepped out of nowhere and grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." It was the boy with the shaggy orange hair. He stumbled back quickly, hands held up and his smile a little too broad. His voice was tight with fear. "Easy with the sword, okay, nee-san?"

Tobiume was already halfway out. Momo slid the sword back into its sheath, but kept her hand on the hilt.

"That wasn't very smart, you know," she pointed out calmly. Her old politeness, born of startlement, sounded strange to her. These days, it felt more natural to chew people out in much saltier language.

That wasn't the only strange thing. Momo had no idea what to make of this boy. Something about him struck her as _off_ , but she couldn't tell what. He appeared perfectly human, and mortal, but something about him made her think 'gigai.' For one thing, how had he appeared in front of her so quickly? And without her noticing? She didn't think it was shunpo. Then there was the fact he had taken a three-story fall and landed without stumbling--or shattering both his legs.

"Sorry, sorry..." His words were broken with nervous laughter, and he kept an eye on her sword. Or at least, his eyes hit a bit lower than her own eye level. "It's just that... well, heheh, it sounds like you maybe know what happened to Karin's brother, right?"

This time, his eyes met hers, and they narrowed in a way that reminded her of something--someone--she had seen recently.

"Karin? That's the little girl you were carrying?"

That got her a wry grin that was halfway to a scowl. It looked... off. "Yeah, but don't call her that. Little, I mean. Not unless you want her to kick you in the shins--and she kicks _hard_." The wince said he spoke from experience.

He spared an anxious glance over his shoulder, but there was no one there. A thick curtain--actually a ratty green plaid blanket that had been nailed up against the persistent draft--hung between the genkan and the room beyond. Momo could hear voices rising and falling in conversation on the other side, but they were muffled by the cloth and by what sounded like a radio program that kept flaring into static.

"Anyhow, you _are_ going to tell us what happened to Ichigo, right? No matter how bad it is? You're not going to keep quiet just 'cause there's something she might not want to hear?"

Momo started to answer, then snapped her mouth shut again. She had been preparing for him to ask her to sugar-coat or even avoid passing along what news she had.

"Not knowing what happened to her brother is driving her nuts, you know?" he pleaded, perhaps taking her silence as refusal. "She's never gonna admit it, but it is. I don't know if she's telling herself everything is okay, or if she's imagining the worst, but I gotta tell you..." He shrugged, and again his gaze slid away from hers.

Momo knew all too well what he meant. Living with a lie, whether pleasant or unpleasant, would eat and eat and eat away at you.

But then she remembered Ikkaku's shoulders tight to the point of muscles snapping, and how she thought she was going to get a left hook to the jaw when she grabbed his arm to get him out of the room after they heard what had happened to Ayasegawa-san.

The truth had some pretty sharp teeth of its own.

Before Momo could say anything Karin poked her head through the curtain. "What's taking you... Kon, I _told_ you to stop perving!" She ducked back before either of them could answer, and Momo thought she could hear a muffled _jeez..._

Kon, if that's what his name was, rolled his eyes. Momo felt her cheeks grow hot, and she reflexively stroked at where her hair _had_ been, yanking her hand away when she brushed against the still-healing burn on the back of her neck.

She could just barely remember the last time she wanted someone (a specific someone) to find her attractive, and wished she couldn't.

He held the curtain aside for her. "Look," he whispered, "Karin's got family--a father, a sister--they're close, and they're stronger than she knows. Whatever you say will suck for them, too, but she won't be facing it alone."

Momo chose not to respond, and he gave her a pleading look as she passed by.

She returned the look with a suspicious one of her own; something he had said had struck her as wrong, somehow. False. Incomplete. What, she couldn't tell, but like so many other things about this boy, things just didn't fit together the way they should.

All that was forgotten, though, when she walked into the room. Tobuime's hiss of dismay echoed her own.

When she had come here, it had been with the hope of quickly being taken to see Urahara Kisuke and perhaps Soi Fong-taichou. She'd deliver her news about the escapees and receive some advice, news, and maybe even the promise of some help in return.

She had not expected not to find Urahara there.

She also had not expected other people to show up as well.

And she certainly had not expected a... a _tea party_?

In the back of her mind, she heard Rangiku laughing her head off, and for some reason the sound was very hard to shut out.

A cluttered kotatsu sat in the middle of the small room, taking up a disproportionate amount of space. Jinta, Karin, Kon and the little girl alone would have made it seem overcrowded, but they were not the only ones there.

Momo didn't know _any_ of these people. She knew the names of three of them, but that was hardly enough.

A very large man with a _very_ large mustache took up one entire side of the kotatsu on his own. He looked up when Momo entered, but the shine on his glasses kept her from reading his expression. Of course, Nanao and Mihane aside, Momo had an instinctive distrust of anyone who wore glasses. She always assumed they were hiding--

Her heart sped up and her breath stopped in her chest when she noticed a silver-haired man fussing with a radio in the corner of the room, but the second he turned to look at her, she felt silly for even that brief flutter of panic. He was sharp featured, yes, but he was more burly than wiry, and it seemed natural for his features to settle in a scowl rather than a grin.

"Shinigami?" he demanded, not even bothering to be polite.

Momo nodded, but didn't say anything. For one thing, she had had at first guessed that half the people in the room were shinigami, but the longer she stood here, the less certain she was of that. For another, anything she might have said was drowned out by one of the other people in the room, a green-haired woman who burst out with a cheerful "Kon-ichi!" when she saw who had walked into the room.

"Mashiro!" Kon's pleading look had changed to a wide grin. "What's shaking?"

That got a frown from Karin, but Kon simply brushed past everyone and volunteered to help this Mashiro person make some more tea for the newcomers. As they headed out of the room, she gleefully showed off a new bracelet. Kon seemed duly impressed, but from what little Momo saw of it, it wasn't very pretty--just a dull and blocky metal band that looked far too big on her wrist. They were still talking as the door closed behind them, and from time to time, the sound of their conversation would rise and fall in the background.

"I appreciate the offer," Momo said, "but it's vital I speak to Urahara Kisuke as soon as possible."

"News about the resistance, right?" The man who'd been fussing with the radio gave up on getting a clear signal. He smacked the radio once, just because, then walked haltingly back to the kotatsu, as if unsure whether or not his left leg would bear his weight. When he sat down, it was with noticeable care, and Karin stopped staring balefully at Momo long enough to try to help him. Jinta rolled his eyes.

"Again, I came here to speak with Urahara Kisuke." The 'and not you' didn't have to be said.

"Kensei's okay! He's on our side!" Karin protested, as if Momo would take her word for it.

The large man sipped at his tea and added nothing to the conversation.

Kensei. The name rang a bell, but the man himself was not familiar--she liked to think she would have remembered the piercings. The silver hair bore some unfortunate associations, but he looked less and less like Gin the more she looked at him. Maybe if he were wearing a shihakushou instead of a heavy flannel shirt, or--

Yes. It was a few months ago, but she remembered the briefing she'd received shortly before heading off with Ikkaku and his squad. The odd, not-quite-a-shinigami feel now made a lot more sense.

"Kensei? Muguruma Kensei?"

Ukitake-taichou had wanted them to know about the Vizard, just in case. A few were allies, most were unaccounted for. And now, one might well be an enemy.

"Yeah," he growled. "And who the hell are you?"

Momo started to introduce herself, but then her mouth snapped shut when she realized that this person distrusted _her_ just as much as she distrusted him.

"That's Hinamori Momo," came a familiar voice. "Hinamori-fukutaichou, you can speak in front of any of these people. You have my word on that."

Momo's first thought when she saw Soi Fong-taichou was surprise at how small she truly was. For the first time, it was obvious she was actually just a little bit shorter than Momo herself.

Rather than the billowing haori that filled space and carried a weight of authority larger than itself, Soi Fong wore nothing but a green satin robe that came down to just above her knees. It made Momo chilly just to look at it, but Soi Fong seemed comfortable enough.

Or maybe she was just that bullheaded. The acidity of the thought startled Momo.

As for Soi Fong's reaction to seeing Momo, a sharply raised eyebrow wasn't enough to tell Momo what the other woman was thinking. For her part, Momo did her best to school her own expression and to avoid too many surreptitious glances at the empty sleeve hanging loose from Soi Fong's left shoulder.

She didn't do as well with that as she had hoped.

"I'm not always in this gigai--I don't want to get into trouble by learning to count on an arm that isn't there," she said. Her voice was sharp to the point of being rude, but Momo was less startled by that than she was by the idea that Soi Fong was going to the trouble of explaining herself.

"All right," Muguruma said, sparing a quick, poisonous glare at Soi Fong. "Enough yapping. You two know each other, and you've met Kurosaki, here. The kids there are Ururu and Jinta, and that's Tsukabishi Tessai."

The man nodded and Momo gaped. If only she had time to pick his brain about some kidou ideas she had... Her mind raced and she nearly lost the end of Muguruma's introduction.

"And obviously, you've heard about me."

He smiled at last, or at least it looked enough like a smile that Momo let her hand drop from Tobiume's hilt. She bowed, then sat down at last, pulling the kotatsu's blanket over her legs, grateful for the warmth despite the blanket's not-so-faint aroma of stale curry. "Yes, I have. I also heard about what Aizen-tai.. what Aizen Sousuke did to you and your friends."

Old habits, she thought, and she could picture Rangiku's disapproving and pitying look at the near-slip.

She decided not to tell Muguruma-san that she could probably match his stories with some of her own. Or tell him which division she'd been assigned to as fukutaichou.

"Should I go ahead and start?" she asked Soi Fong. The other woman still stood, back to the wall, as if deliberately choosing to be uncomfortable. "I can, but I'll need to start over once Urahara-san returns."

"Hold on." Karin spoke up before Soi Fong could answer. "If they went after the Hollows Kon and I saw, they might be a while. And you said something about Aizen, and how he was the guy who um..." she cut a quick glance to Kensei. He ignored her so completely it had to be deliberate.. "That's the guy my brother is fighting, right? The one who kidnapped Orihime-san?"

Tessai finally spoke up. "That is correct, Kurosaki-kun." He turned his attention to Momo, and while his voice and manner spoke of nothing but kindness, she knew better than to believe that. If anything, it put her even more on her guard. She tried to shift to a ready position, but only ended up getting part of the blanket pinned under her leg. "If our friends in Soul Society have sent a fukutaichou here, to the living world, then the news must be important, correct? You have news about Aizen?"

Karin's hands twisted at the blanket, but her eyes remained steady on Momo. Momo looked to Soi Fong for guidance, but all she got was a challenge.

In the background, she could hear Kon talking loudly, and Mashiro's laugh in response. It was the sound of nothing wrong in the world.

It was easy to hear the sound of how she had teased Kira, or Shiro-chan, once upon a time.

Grimmjow had not had news of them, or at least nothing that allowed anyone to identify more than a few people he'd mentioned. He'd almost seemed proud of his ignorance, and even more proud of the reaction he'd startled out of Ikkaku.

Momo wondered how Ikkaku would handle this situation, what he would say if he had been sent instead of her.

Her hand went to the back of her head, not feeling the still-tender burn or the absence of hair for a change, but instead imagining the slap Ikkaku delivered as he told her to just spit it out already.

"Before Urahara gets here, I can at least tell you what little I know about your brother, Kurosaki-san," Momo said, hoping she didn't sound blunt, hoping she didn't sound condescending.

She did notice that despite her earlier words, Soi Fong ordered Ururu and Jinta out of the room with a sharp gesture. Ururu headed into the kitchen obediently enough, but Jinta required an extra glare to get him moving.

"We did receive confirmation--good, solid confirmation--that he is alive."

Karin carefully did not react, no doubt bracing herself for the 'but' that was sure to follow. Soi Fong and Muguruma, on the other hand, were both quick to demand what Momo meant by 'good confirmation' and how had she gotten it and what else had she heard...

Momo ignored them and kept talking directly to Karin, even though she almost had to shout to do so. There was no good way to say this. "You do know what shinigami are, right? And that your brother is one?" Karin nodded. "And you also know about Hollows?"

"Karin knows what the Vizard are, if that's what you're getting at," Muguruma said. He didn't seem any friendlier, but it appeared he had decided to trust her for the moment. He shifted position, slightly, wincing and pulling in a hiss of breath as he did so. Karin looked at him, worried. "It's not Aizen's fault if Ichigo's one."

There was a derisive snort from Soi Fong, one that hinted at a very long story indeed.

From the kitchen, there was a splash, some outraged squawking, and another peal of laughter. They were sounds that belonged in some other place. Some other time. Karin was distracted by it, though, and missed what Muguruma had said about the Vizard. Her attention was back on him for his next comment, however.

"Are you trying to say that Aizen's pushed Ichigo out of control of his Hollow half?" Muguruma seemed uncomfortable, but it was not the subject matter. Not entirely, anyway.

"What? 'Hollow half'? What are you talking about?" Karin was confused, but the confusion was quickly being subsumed by anger. "You mean Ichi-nii's like you and Mashiro? And you didn't tell me?"

"It wasn't his story to tell," Soi Fong said, as if that was that.

"That's one possibility," Momo said, more to Muguruma than anyone else. "We only know that he's fully masked and that apparently he's in a position of, well, he's trusted. Apparently."

That disclaimer was very much needed where Aizen Sousuke was concerned.

"So Ichi-nii's being mind-controlled?" Karin chimed in. She was nearly drowned out by another burst from the radio.

"Someone get that, hey?" Muguruma said. "Can't get a decent signal anywhere anymore--shit! Tessai, isn't there something you can do to get rid of the static?"

"Certainly." And with that, the kidou master simply leaned over and unplugged the radio. "The television's even worse," he said, as if anyone cared.

"I don't have a lot of detail on that," Momo said. "I do know that at least one other shinigami also seems to have become a Vizard."

"Or something else." Soi Fong moved closer in. "Kensei and the others had the hollowfication process interrupted by Urahara, so the circumstances might not be the same. Who was it? Do you know?"

"Ayasegawa Yumichika."

Soi Fong pondered the information for a moment, then shrugged. As for Momo, she could still hear Ikkaku's ranting, and the awful sound as he slammed his fist into a wall.

"But what about Ichi-nii?" Karin pounded a fist on the kotatsu hard enough to make the dishes on it jump and clatter. "Kensei and Mashiro can be normal, right?"

"Most of the time," Muguruma muttered. He looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

"So even if Ichi-nii's a..." She looked at Muguruma then looked away again just as quickly, scowling. Something about the expression was familiar. "He can change back, right? Right?"

"We don't know that for sure, although it might be possible." In a very different time, in a very different place, Momo would have tried to reach out to comfort the girl, or cheer her up. She might have told Karin that everything was going to be fine, that her brother would be back with his family safe and sound in no time. "All I know is that he's alive and so..."

Her hand rested on Tobiume's hilt again, but it was a much gentler gesture than before.

"If we can get him here, I'm certain there's something that can be done," Tessai rumbled. Momo found herself wanting to trust him--and not just because of what she'd heard he could do with kidou.

Karin nodded and ducked her head. She didn't say anything for a moment, although she did look up with a pained expression when another burst of teasing and laughter came from the kitchen. Tessai waited patiently, Soi Fong a little less so. Muguruma kept shifting position as if trying to get comfortable.

"Are you..." Karin was practically speaking into the collar of her jacket, but that wasn't the only reason her voice sounded muffled. Then, she cleared her throat and looked up, looked straight at Momo. " _Are_ you going to do that? Try to get him here?"

Her voice was gruff, and the startlingly direct gaze seemed steady enough, and Momo wondered if Karin was going to cry. Part of her wanted to pull the girl into a hug, and stroke her back and tell her just to let it all out...

Karin didn't cry--she was probably the sort of child who would rather die than cry in front of strangers, or _anyone_ for that matter--but she was positively shedding wisps of power. She had so little control over it she probably didn't even know what she was doing, and Momo felt something twist in her chest at the thought of Shiro-chan, and what had happened after she had left for the Academy.

"Launch an attack on Hueco Mundo? Is that what you came here to suggest?" Muguruma smiled again, one of those smiles that seemed to be half-warning. "Have to say, the idea kinda appeals."

"We need to wait for Yoruichi-sama and Urahara to return," Soi Fong pointed out. The full weight of her attention then shifted back to Momo. "You didn't come just to tell us that Kurosaki is still alive. We were aware of the possibility that Aizen had prisoners."

"Possibly including two of our captains." Momo was able to enjoy the sight of Soi Fong's mouth dropping open in surprise.

"How the hell do you know that?" Muguruma leaned forward sharply, coming nearly halfway across the table. "You trying to tell us you got someone into Hueco Mundo?"

Momo shook her head. "Not in. _Out_."

It was hard not to feel just a little bit smug at the resulting commotion. She even heard a sharp outburst from the kitchen, but that might have been random noise.

"We weren't the ones who got them out," Momo admitted. "But they had help from the inside--help I'm not sure we can trust." She held up her hands to stave off the outbreak of competing demands to know who 'they' were, or who this mysterious help was.

"There's a lot to go over," she said, "and I don't want to leave out anything that might be important--I can't be entirely sure what _is_ important. The escapees claim that Hisagi Shuuhei was the one who helped them get out, but I'm sure you understand why we have no idea if we can take that at face value or not."

"A double-agent, hmm?" Tessai pondered this possibility with many deep _hmmms_ as if it were nothing more than a fascinating puzzle.

As for Momo, she remembered all too clearly those first, awful days, and how desperately angry Iba had been, taking it out on everyone and everything until Ikkaku had finally had enough. The resulting brawl had taken both of them out of commission for days.

"That's what it seems like," Momo said. Soi Fong's attention was visibly piqued by the slight emphasis on 'seems,' and Momo nodded. "We do know better than to be too quick to trust, though."

Her old comrades had been slow to trust her again, of course, and Hisagi's betrayal and Kira's disappearance hadn't done anything to help overcome the impression she'd left during her recovery.

There were days when Momo--the Momo who was as quick to respond to Ikkaku's stupid nickname as she was her own name--wanted to go back in time and give herself a swift kick.

Tobiume's quiet _gentle, gentle..._ went unheeded.

"What about the escapees?" Soi Fong asked. "Who are they? Can they be trusted?"

Momo heard what she was not asking, and saw the same question in Muguruma's stare: _Do we know them? Did we get anyone_ back _?_

"One of them is Sado Yasutora." That got a nod of recognition from Tessai, and a delighted gasp from Karin. "He was largely kept imprisoned, but he was able to vouch that it was Hisagi Shuuhei who helped him escape."

"The Sado boy spent some time with Hisagi Shuuhei when he was in Soul Society after Aizen's departure," Soi Fong told Kensei. Momo knew better than to be surprised that Soi Fong knew this. "Similar musical interests, apparently. So, it's possible Hisagi deliberately chose a prisoner who would already be inclined to think favorably of him in order to sell his story."

"Is he okay, though?" Karin asked. "Why didn't you bring him back over with you? Can't he come back home?"

"Bringing a human back through the senkaimon would draw too much attention." Soi Fong's explanation was curt at best, but it was still a level of helpfulness Momo was not used to seeing from her.

"He needs some rest, mostly," Momo added, as Soi Fong had not answered all of Karin's questions. "The other escapee... well, he's got good information, but he's a former Espada, so while his information could be good--"

"It's suspect," Muguruma finished. There'd been a flash of disappointment on his face when Momo said who the other escapee was, but he recovered quickly enough.

"Yes, but Grimmjow seems motivated to help us out--he's not a Hollow anymore, and he's _not_ happy about it. He's helping us out on the assumption we're going to help him get his power back."

"Not a Hollow any more?" Muguruma demanded. "Then what the hell _is_ he?"

"Was it Inoue-san's doing?" Tessai's question was gentler than Muguruma's, but it commanded more attention.

"So, Orihime's okay, too?" Karin didn't seem as happy about hearing that another of her brother's friends was alive as she should have been, and once Momo confirmed that yes, Inoue Orihime was apparently imprisoned but alive, Karin tucked her chin into her collar and pulled her hat low over her forehead, shutting the others out as she lost herself in thought. She said nothing about the fact that Orihime might be able to cure Ichigo.

"That's what he said. It was an accident, or so he says. There's no remnant of a mask, no Hollow hole, no sense that he ever _was_ a Hollow. His reiatsu seems more like a shinigami's than Muguruma-san's does."

"Let me guess what else was said." Soi Fong was looking at nothing in particular, but her eyes flickered to and fro slightly as if watching things play out where the others could not see. As she spoke, she didn't even bother to mask the sarcastic drawl. "Hisagi just happened to be around for this 'accident,' and he had the presence of mind to get this Grimmjow person out of Hueco Mundo along with one other 'random' prisoner as proof of his good intentions. He then asked for an attack squad to be sent to a specific location at a specific time because he had finally found a way to defeat Aizen."

Momo nodded, surprised at the sudden lump in her throat. Soi Fong's thoughts echoed ones she'd had, but still... It hurt more than expected to find that there might be more to them than her own fancy.

Hisagi had been her _friend_. And she didn't have many of those left.

"Wait a minute..." Karin had been paying more attention than Momo had assumed. "Kon and I saw some hollows--they were kinda human-like, can't remember what he called them--hanging around outside Chad's apartment. I mean, Sado's. Chad's what Ichi-nii calls him," she explained for Momo's benefit. "They were looking for something."

Soi Fong tapped her knuckles against her lip as she thought. "Tricky. This is tricky. They couldn't have known how Grimmjow might react to being changed. And did he say who the prisoners were?"

Momo shook her head. "He didn't remember names until prompted, mostly."

She went on to explain what they had pieced together about Unohana-taichou, and also about someone named Lisa.

Muguruma slammed a hand down on the table, then looked away, muttering obscenities.

"Do you know what condition she was in?" Soi Fong asked, as Muguruma clearly was not about to.

"In control of her faculties, from what little he was able--or willing--to tell us. It didn't sound like she was a prisoner."

That startled a harsh laugh from Muguruma. "Good for her," he said, getting wide-eyed looks from the others in the room.

He just gave them a crooked smile and a shrug. "It sounds like she's in good shape. That's good. That's real good. So, knowing Lisa, unless Aizen's whammied her, she's probably playing her own game. She's smart. And patient. And I _know_ she wouldn't betray us," he said with no trace of defensiveness or denial. " _I_ can trust _my_ people."

Neither Soi Fong nor Momo chose to respond to that remark.

"So, if this Lisa's okay, then why isn't Ichi-nii? What's wrong with him?" Karin's hands rested on top of the blanket, clenching and unclenching over and over again. "It's bad, isn't it? Really bad. Chad's his best friend and Orihime... I know she's important to him, too. Four months? Are you telling me he'd go for four months and _not do anything to help them_?"

Her entire body was tense, her fists tight in a way that must have driven her fingernails deep into the palms of her hand. It seemed to keep every bit of her strength to keep from screaming, and yet she couldn't keep her voice from rising to a squeak.

"What about your other missing friends?" Soi Fong was quick to turn to Muguruma. "If they were imprisoned by Aizen, is Lisa the sort to leave them to his mercies?"

"If she thought it was the best way to help them in the long run, yes," he shot back. "But I don't--"

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a crash and yell from the kitchen.

The door opened and Ururu poked her head back into the room. "Excuse me, but there's a problem."

From her tone of voice, it could have been anything from a backed up sink to the world ending. There was the sound of something arrhythmically thumping against the floor, and the occasional sharp _oof_ of pain, but nothing else to tell Momo what was going on.

The others, on the other hand, did not seem surprised.

"Not again..." Muguruma started to get up, but was having some difficulty. Soi Fong shifted subtly into a 'ready' position, while Tessai merely _hrrmmed_ and adjusted his glasses.

As for Momo, she was just starting to stand up when the kitchen door exploded out of its frame.

Ururu shrieked and ducked out of the way, and a chunk of wood caught Muguruma across the back of the head. He lost his balance and was knocked forward face-first onto the table as Mashiro leapt into the center of the room.

Momo quickly found out why Soi Fong had avoided the kotatsu--when she tried to leap to her feet, her legs tangled in the blanket and fell right back down on her rear. Soi Fong tried to tackle Mashiro, but the other woman was faster, and stronger. Soi Fong hit the opposite wall, hard, before Momo knew what had happened.

"She said you guys had this fixed!" Kon came pelting out of the kitchen. Blood trickled down from under one eyebrow.

Tessai was mid-incantation when Mashiro lashed out with one foot, breaking his concentration. "We thought we might have, this time."

He formed the seal for what Momo recognized as Hakudo Ninety-Nine, but before the light had even begun to draw itself around his hand, Mashiro knocked him to the ground. Soi Fong was there in a second, doing her best to one-handedly pull Mashiro off him.

Mashiro shrieked over and over, and in the chaos, Momo saw traces of bone advancing and retreating over her face and along her back.

The incantation sped through her mind faster than she could ever say it, and Momo raised her hand, palm out. "Way of Binding Sixty Three--Sajo Sabaku!"

Power flowed down her arm and emerged as a chain of golden light. It pinned Mashiro's arms to her sides, but she still thrashed and kicked, flopping around on the table like a landed fish.

Muguruma tried to hold her down, but got a kick to his ribs for his trouble. His face was already bloodied from its encounter with the table. "Pull yourself together, fukutaichou!" he barked, but instead of following the order, Mashiro simply started keening as fragments of an insect-like mask covered more and more of her face and neck, erupting through her skin until only flashes of her face were actually visible.

"That won't hold her long!" Tessai had several gashes down the side of his neck, and a dark stain spreading inexorably over the front of his apron. His glasses were askew and one lens was cracked.

"The best I can do is eighty-one, but that won't work here!" Momo looked for an opening, but the space was small, too small, and everyone was getting in the way. Soi Fong nearly knocked her over as Mashiro bucked hard enough to fling her aside. As predicted, the bindings snapped, and Mashiro leaped up to the ceiling, clinging there like a gecko, breathing hard, and still keening in pain.

Muguruma leapt to his feet, only to have but his leg buckle beneath him. He fell, roaring in pain. Karin tried to catch him, but only ended up making the two of them fall to the ground in an undignified heap.

Tessai was still pulling himself together, and Momo knew that something as complex as a level ninety kidou needed concentration, no matter how good you were.

"Sajo Sabaku." The chain of light snaked up to the ceiling. Momo knew it wouldn't hold Mashiro for long, but it might hold her just long enough for Tessai to do what he needed.

Mashiro shrieked, and dropped from the ceiling. Kon was there in a flash, and caught her neatly enough, or would have if Mashiro hadn't been trying to thrash free of her bonds. Kon stumbled back, tripping over Kensei and Karin. Karin yelped, and Kon rolled away from Mashiro as they hit the table, hissing in pain and cradling his wrist to his chest. The chains of light wrapped around Mashiro snapped again just as Tessai finished the kidou. In less than a second, Mashiro's arms were bound in strong cloth, iron spikes driven through the ends of the cloth to pin her in place.

"My, my, my. What did I miss here?"

Now that the confusion had finally settled somewhat (Kon was complaining at length about his wrist, and Karin and Muguruma were trying to get untangled) Momo saw that someone was standing in the door, holding aside the old plaid blanket.

Soi Fong let out a curse that gave Momo a brief pang of homesickness for the recon squad. Obviously, she had just noticed the new arrival--a scruffy blond man clad in black. Snow clumped in his hair and covered one shoulder.

On the other shoulder a black cat perched as if it had every right to be there, diligently pawing snow away from its ears and whiskers.

"It's really coming down out there--ah, thank you Ururu." The little girl reappeared and handed the man a green and white striped hat. He shook his head to rid himself of most of the snow, then plopped the hat atop his head. The cat flowed neatly off his shoulder and trotted over to Soi Fong, tail held high. "I gather Mashiro's new bracelet didn't work?"

One step brought him right up to the table--or what was left of it. Three of the iron spikes had broken it neatly in two, and sparks spit and sputtered from where one had driven straight through the heating element of the kotatsu. He hunched down beside Mashiro and gingerly pulled a portion of the kidou bindings to one side, hissing and shaking his fingers as power crackled in response to the intrusion.

Muguruma finally got to his feet, aided by a dazed and disgruntled Karin. "It worked for a while, but it crapped out without warning." He took a step forward, and nearly collapsed again. "Shit!"

Soi Fong rolled her eyes, then scooped up the black cat. "We'll be back once this is cleaned up. Hinamori-fukutaichou, that idiot there is Urahara Kisuke," she said, nodding towards the scruffy blond. "You can fill him in on what you've told me and Kensei-san."

The cat peered over her shoulder. "Kon, let's get you seen to," it said in a gruff voice that seemed too large for the tiny black body. "Make it quick--we've come across a situation that needs seeing to. All hands on deck, I'm afraid. Soi Fong, I'll want your take on this, first..."

Momo stared, but none of the others acted as if this was anything at all out of the ordinary. Instead, Tessai simply ushered Kon out of the room. Kon looked back over his shoulder as he left, only turning away when Karin called out that he needed to take better care of her brother's body.

Either everyone here was insane, Momo thought, or _she_ was.

"What happened?" While she wasn't about to attack, Momo kept a hand on Tobiume's hilt.

Muguruma was still sitting on the floor. He kneaded at his left thigh, wincing in pain. "Fucking Barragan happened."

"I thought Barragan caused things to decay," Momo said. Again, as she had in so many nightmares, she saw Oomaeda running desperately towards her and Kira even as he fell apart into bone and dust.

"Yeah. That, too," Muguruma growled. He left off massaging his leg, and instead punched it hard, just above the knee. If he felt anything, it didn't show on his face.

"This _is_ a form of decay, actually. Spiritual, rather than physical." Urahara was concentrating on the ugly metal bracelet he'd pulled off Mashiro. A glowing purple crystal seemed to hold most of his attention. He prodded at it with a needle, and the glow shifted to blue. "Ah! There we go! Anyhow, whatever Barragan did in that attack... now where is that wire?... did something to age the bonds the victims had over their hollow side--hmm, I'll have to replace that circuit altogether, I think. It's like what happens to a rubberband when it gets old. Instead of stretching and snapping back, it simply frays and breaks," he said, illustrating with a merry snap of his fingers.

"I see." Momo glanced furtively over at Muguruma, and noted the set of his jaw. He, too, must have picked up the implication of what Urahara had said. What Mashiro was now, he would become one day if he lived long enough. "Can it be controlled enough where she can be trusted in the field?"

Yes, what she had just seen was horrible, but if they had someone like that on their side...

Of course, if Muguruma and his people had been there when they were fighting in the false Karakura, maybe everything would be different now.

Urahara only smiled faintly by way of answer. He pulled off his hat and fished around inside the inner band until he found some tiny bit of metal. He slipped it into the bracelet. "This should fix things for now. Unfortunately, I don't have time to work on a more permanent solution just now. Meanwhile... Hinamori, was it?... You can tell me why you're here. Afterwards, you may be able to help us out with a particularly nasty batch of Hollows."

Her orders had been to request help, not take the time to give it, but at the same time, she didn't think she could--or should--refuse. But that decision could wait.

As Urahara continued to tinker, Momo told him what she'd said to the others about Kurosaki Ichigo and Ayasegawa Yumichika, and about Hisagi Shuuhei's apparent role in their escape. Given that Soi Fong had guessed at Hisagi's message to them, Momo told him about that as well, and how much they _didn't_ know. Urahara just nodded here and there, attention more on the bracelet than on her. For a while, she wasn't entirely certain he was listening, although he did let out a soft _ha!_ when Karin interrupted to mention what she and Kon had seen outside Sado Yasutora's apartment.

"I see." A spark shot up from the bracelet, and Momo smelled ozone. Mashiro had given up struggling against her bonds, and was wheezing faintly through her mask. Urahara smiled and patted her on the head. "Almost done, almost done. I'll admit--I would very much like to take a look at this Grimmjow person and see what might have been done to him and if we can duplicate it. I have to say, it could be very helpful..."

Here, he reached out and snapped the bracelet back around Mashiro's wrist. Momo couldn't swear to it, but she thought she heard a faint hum as the bracelet clicked shut.

"...but I'm afraid that's absolutely impossible right now."

"Impossible! How can it be impossible?" Muguruma was shouting, and Momo followed suit.

"Aren't you going to help us? Are you telling me I came here for nothing?" She had been the one to say that perhaps Urahara--the man no one seemed willing to trust entirely--remembered his duty as a shinigami. Momo thought she had become used to being proven wrong about such things, but the disappointment struck deeper than she had expected. "If you can figure out what happened to Grimmjow, you might be able to help Ayasegawa-san and Karin's brother and--"

"And Mashiro. And--" Muguruma looked away sharply and didn't say anything else, just as Momo didn't add anyone to her own list.

"Why isn't it working?" Karin asked. She had not taken her eyes off Mashiro, had not even reacted to Urahara's refusal to look at Grimmjow. "I thought you said the bracelet would help her?"

"It will take a moment or two." Urahara didn't sound at all worried. And sure enough, Mashiro's mask began to crumble away as if on cue. "Hinamori-fukutaichou, did your former Hollow say anything about how long it took for his transformation to take place?"

Momo shook her head. "No, but I got the idea it happened all at once." Why was he being curious, now, after saying he wouldn't help? "Again, if you could only take a look at him, you could--"

"Everything back to normal?" It was someone new.

Momo turned. Soi Fong and Kon had come back in the room, Soi Fong now in her old uniform (minus the haori, of course) and Kon with a makeshift splint on his wrist. The third person was a dark-skinned woman was unhurriedly--and with no attention to modesty--pulling on the last pieces of a close-fitting black outfit.

"What's normal?" Karin snarled. She scowled as Kon crouched next to Mashiro, and his own frown of concentration looked so much like Karin's that Momo knew what had struck her as odd before.

"Wait--you're an artificial soul, aren't you?"

Kon's attention was on Mashiro (her mask was gone, but her face was clammy and pale, and she shook her head in response to something he said) but he tensed at Momo's question.

"He's supposed to be looking after my brother's body." Karin didn't have to say any more than that to make it clear how she thought he was doing at that particular job.

" _And_ you and Yuzu," he said, short to the point of rudeness.

Momo stared, and didn't bother hiding it. In a way, she was looking at the boy who had all but turned Soul Society upside down less than a year ago.

He didn't look nearly as fearsome as the stories had led her to believe. Well, that might have something to do with the fact that it was only a piece of soul candy in there, not...

Not someone who had gone out of his way to make sure she remembered she was talking to a girl whose heart was breaking over the news about her brother.

The kidou bindings around Mashiro were falling away into smoke and desultory sparks. Kensei had regained his feet, although he was limping badly, and he helped Kon (who could only do so much with one working hand) get Mashiro up out of the wreckage of the table and the remains of the kidou.

"It only took her a day to burn through that circuit. That's something else that's getting worse, Kisuke," said the dark-skinned woman.

Urahara nodded, but he was now preoccupied by the unplugged radio. "Yes, yes... Say, weren't your Hanshin Carp supposed to be playing today? Season opener?"

"Hanshin Tigers," Kensei snapped. "And it's still pre-season."

Kon unsuccessfully used his injured hand to stifle a cough that sounded a great deal like _losers_.

"Static problems again, I take it?" Urahara seemed more perturbed by this than by walking in on a rampaging half-Hollow in the middle of his living room.

"Worse than ever. Don't know why I even bother anymore--you got her okay over there, Kon?"

Kon nodded, and stepped back a bit so more of Mashiro's weight fell against him. "Yeah. You?"

"I don't mean to be rude," Momo said, even though the temptation to let fly with a string of curses that would have made Hoshibana go pale with shock was growing stronger every second, "but we're getting away from what I came here to talk about. I didn't risk my life sneaking into the living world for... _this_." She circled one hand to indicate the chaos that pushed to the edges of the small room.

Ururu came back into the room just then. "Excuse me, honored customers, but the tea is ready."

Momo counted to ten.

"I told Yoruichi-sama what you told me about Hisagi's news," Soi Fong said.

Momo nodded, confirming to Soi Fong that she'd filled Urahara in as well. She noted that the dark-skinned woman was the infamous Shihouin Yoruichi (goodness, she was meeting _all_ sorts of people today...) and put that together with the fact that she'd supposedly been out hunting with Urahara and that Urahara had come back in with a little black cat--a little black cat who had followed Soi Fong into the back...

This was going to be a fun story to tell Ikkaku, Hoshibana, Mihane, Maki-Maki and the others. But fun would have to wait.

"What's your take?" Momo addressed the disgraced Shihouin heir without thought of courtesy or protocol. This conversation should have been over long before now, and she should be on her way back with information and the promise of assistance.

Yoruichi shrugged. "It's an opportunity. We take it."

"You mean you think you should look at Grimmjow and see what you can learn?"

Soi Fong was shaking her head slowly even before Momo had finished talking. "No. She's saying that we take Hisagi Shuuhei up on his offer."

There was no mention of any objection she had raised earlier, nothing about all the ways it could be a setup. The thought of Soi Fong of all people trusting someone that much was something Momo could barely get her head around.

"You shitting me?" Muguruma asked. "Just like that? We trust that bastard?"

Soi Fong gave him the sort of look she used to give Oomaeda. "Of course not. I say we send Tessai out to monitor the Arrancar that came after Sado and see what he can learn--one way or another. Ideally, the rest of us would press a brief attack and see if they 'accidentally' let anything slip when they know they have an audience, but I'm not sure we have enough manpower to make the risk worthwhile."

Momo was relieved at this brief return to normality, but Muguruma was by no means mollified.

"C'mon Kensei. Let's get her downstairs." Kon was now supporting most of Mashiro's weight, as Muguruma was clearly in need of some help himself.

The attempt at defusing the situation did nothing.

"Mashiro's getting worse, Rose is _beyond_ fucked up, and you three are just going to throw away an opportunity to find out something that could help them? And instead, you're just going to waltz into what any idiot could see is a death trap?" Muguruma's face was boiled-red, and Momo could feel the heat in her own cheeks and throbbing in the hilt of her sword and in the burn in the back of her neck.

"The tea is getting cold," Ururu said plaintively.

"Would someone just say _why_?"

Everyone stopped cold at Karin's outburst.

"I'm tired of this. I'm tired of not knowing what's going on, I'm tired of everyone talking _around_ me. All I know is that I want my brother back, and I want all this to stop." From the way she flung out her arms, 'all this' could have been everything to the horizon and beyond.

Mashiro murmured something.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that." Kon stepped back, pulling Mashiro with him towards the door. Muguruma let go of his old fukutaichou reluctantly, giving her hand a quick squeeze just as she stepped out of reach. "A'right, let's get you down into your hidey-hole so you can take a nice nap, 'shiro-chan. You're gonna be okay, okay?"

Momo closed her eyes and focused on the pain that stabbed at the back of her neck. It anchored her to _now_ and _what next_ , and kept her from drifting off and becoming lost in a vast sea of _back then_ and _if only_.

Shortly after Kon and Mashiro left the room, Momo heard a door open, and a distant, horrible keening. Then, the door closed and the noise stopped.

Momo knew that Karin was refusing to cry. She also knew the flavor of Muguruma's anger, and the sort of thing it hid.

There was far more to this fight than defeating Aizen. She forgot that more often than she should. She had almost forgotten what it was like to want to weep for someone else's sorrow.

Tobiume flicker-whispered something, and Momo squeezed her hilt in acknowledgement and in thanks for the reminder of something she had almost missed.

"Hold on. Urahara-san, you said it was impossible to look at Grimmjow _right now_."

She was rewarded for her insight with a too-cheerful smile. "Exactly! I'd dearly love to take a look at him, but the problem is, there's no time. Karin-chan, just the other day you were complaining about all of the ghosts you saw, and how there are more of them than people, right?"

Karin nodded, but she looked puzzled.

"More suicides than there should be, statistically speaking, too," Urahara said. "Plus, ghosts going hollow on us faster than normal, but I have to say I'm not sure if sending them into Ichimaru's loving care is a better fate or worse."

"There are worse hollows, too." Yoruichi gave a theatrical shudder. "Even before we felt the ones outside of Sado's apartment, we'd been given quite a run."

"Oh, yes. You nearly slid off that roof," Urahara said gleefully. Momo had to wonder if the two of them were _always_ like this, and if Soi Fong always ground her teeth quite so loudly.

"I'd like to see you keep traction in this weather. Speaking of which, the way it's coming down now, I imagine your game would have been called on account of snow, Kensei," Yoruichi said.

"Not that he could have listened, anyhow, given the rise in static, disruptions to phone service, poor television reception. It's getting worse by the day. Everything is."

"'Things fall apart,'" Yoruichi intoned.

"'The center cannot hold.' Or, in other words," he said brightly, "we no longer have the luxury of time. We barely even have time to wait for Tessai's report as it is. The balance between the worlds is shifting, and the effect on this one... Well, it's not good and it's not getting any better on its own."

An image slid into Momo's mind without prompting. A delicate plate, sitting at the edge of an uneven shelf, gradually shifting and shifting until between one breath and the next it had fallen and shattered into countless pieces.

"I'm still operating under the assumption that this is a setup and will plan accordingly," Soi Fong said, "but if what Yoruichi-sama says is correct, by the next time we get another chance to take down Aizen, it might be too late. If we weren't given this opportunity, we would have had to make one for ourselves."

"So, Hinamori-fukutaichou..." Urahara smiled, but there was something about the way his hat shadowed his eyes that took any warmth away from it. "Unless you have another suggestion for how to get into Hueco Mundo and defeat Aizen in, say, the next week, you have no choice but to trust Hisagi Shuuhei. Do you think you can do that?"

Momo thought for only a second.

"Yes," she lied.  



	11. Soi Fong: En Garde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before tactics, one must have strategy. -- by incandescens

**SOI FONG: EN GARDE**

 

Soi Fong arrived early for the meeting. She would have been ashamed to arrive late, and negligent to merely arrive on time: naturally she wanted the chance to look around first, to assess the condition of the shinigami here, to see how good the defenses were, and, last but not least, to so terrify the shinigami on guard (by appearing behind them with a knife to their neck) that they would maintain what she considered a proper state of awareness for a meeting of this level.

Fear, after all, was a wonderful motivator.

She regretted Oomeda's absence. It had taken years to train him, and while she scarcely missed his gluttonous munching of snacks, his carelessness, his overt stupidity, or his general grossness, there were times when she found herself listening for his step behind her, or tossing a comment to see how he would reply to it.

It was perhaps not quite as painful as missing her left arm, but she still felt his absence.

One of the younger shinigami, a man who she recognised as having been in Fourth Division before, but part of Madarame's squad now, escorted her to the conference room. She flicked a glance round automatically as she entered. Two doors, one at each end of the room, but the one she'd come through was guarded and so, presumably, was the other: windows, but with more guards on the roof and terrace outside: and a fireplace, but a fire burning in it, making the chimney unlikely as a potential spot for eavesdroppers.

Ukitake was already there, sitting at the head of the table and flicking through a set of papers. He looked up as she entered, and rose to greet her. His eyes were dark and sunken, and while he moved with more energy than he had last time she'd seen him, he was perceptibly weaker than he had been before.

She still wouldn't want to face him in a straight fight, though.

"Good to see you, Soi Fong-taichou," he said. "I hope that you didn't run into any trouble on your way here."

She gave him a slight bow. "None at all, Ukitake-taichou," she said. "We passed near a couple of Ichimaru's squads, but let them go so as not to let them know anyone had passed. From what I hear, Madarame and his teams are doing a good job of removing Ichimaru's more competent people."

"A shame that it's necessary," Ukitake said vaguely, seating himself again. "I regret the good people who we've had to leave behind in Seireitai."

"We all do," she said, taking a chair from which she could keep an eye on the doors and windows. Papers were laid out in front of all the places at the table. She picked up the sheaf in front of her seat, raising an eyebrow. "Are we actually putting any of this down in writing?" Her tone of voice said quite clearly, _where anyone might see it._

"Ise-fukutaichou made the notes and copied them out herself, with assistance from Hinamori-fukutaichou," he replied. "Nobody outside the agreed group has seen anything."

Soi Fong considered that for a moment, decided that it was acceptable, and began flicking through the papers. "I take it that everyone else is here safely," she said, not looking up, "or you'd already have said something."

Ukitake chuckled, suppressing a cough. "Indeed. I would have told you at once."

She nodded. "About this prisoner --"

"He's being kept in one of the neighbouring rooms," Ukitake said, anticipating the rest of her question. "In case we need to question him. But if you don't mind, I'd rather leave the rest of it until everyone else is here."

Soi Fong nodded again. "Of course, Ukitake-taichou," she said, and returned to scanning the papers.

Perhaps ten minutes later, the others began filing in and took places around the table. Soi Fong rose to bow to Kuukaku, and nodded to the others: Sasakibe still working to stay unnoticed but responding to her nod, Madarame with that rag of a scarf round his neck, Ise focused and just a little too tautly strung, Isane with half her attention on Ukitake, Iba limping and leaning on his crutch, knee still splinted and bandaged, and little Hinamori burning with focused determination.

"Very well," Ukitake said, putting down his papers as everyone seated themselves. "Thank you for attending, Shiba-dono, Soi Fong-taichou. We all know the purpose of this meeting. Do we take this opportunity to strike at Aizen Sousuke, or is it a trap?"

Silence hung round the table, as everyone waited for someone else to answer first.

Soi Fong decided to break it. "I speak for Yoruichi-sama and for Urahara Kisuke as well as myself," she said. "Yoruichi-sama chose to stay to monitor the Karakura situation and pick up any information that she could from the spying posts we have, and Urahara is still unable to enter Soul Society. However, they both agree that we have good reason to believe that this is genuine, and that we should take this opportunity." She glanced round the table, and saw Hinamori Momo nodding. "They also have additional data to suggest that the imbalance of souls between worlds is growing worse. We may have very little time left in which we can take action."

Ukitake raised a hand to quell questions from the others. "How is the imbalance growing worse?"

"More souls not being sent on," Soi Fong said, with a twitch of her armless shoulder. "More Hollows present in the world of the living, and exacerbating the situation by preying on the souls and creating more of themselves. We've had situations of this sort of build-up before during wars, but at least then there was _some_ compensatory shinigami activity going on. Yoruichi-sama suspects that Aizen might even be making the situation worse by forcing or permitting Hollows to come through from Hueco Mundo."

"But that'd be suicidal," Ise said, looking more shocked than Soi Fong felt the situation really warranted. "That sort of increased spiritual pressure could lead to degradation in the matrix of all connected worlds and --"

Ukitake held up a hand. "Point taken, Ise-fukutaichou. I see two possible answers to it. One is that Aizen Sousuke believes that he has some strategy which will incorporate the spiritual degradation and even make use of it."

"And the other answer, Ukitake-taichou?" Madarame asked.

"That he simply doesn't care," Ukitake said. He swept a dark-eyed glance around the table. "I think we have all had sufficient proof over the last few months that Aizen is not concerned with stability or good order, whatever he may say. We have all seen what has been happening to Seireitai under Ichimaru's governance. Why should we assume that he will be any more concerned about the world of the living? If he _thought_ that he could raise himself to divinity by destroying the universe, does anyone here doubt that he would do it?"

Nobody answered that. Hinamori lowered her eyes to look at her hands, but she didn't recoil or try to shrink away.

"I agree," Shiba Kuukaku said. She leaned forward, glaring impartially at everyone. "We should act, and we should do it soon."

Ukitake nodded. "That is my opinion too. I find it --" He hesitated. "I find it plausible that Yamamoto-soutaichou would have suspected treachery. As it turned out, he was right to a degree. If Kurotsuchi had known that Hisagi was a spy, then Hisagi would already be dead."

_And still,_ Soi Fong thought, _you say 'Yamamoto-soutaichou' as if he was going to come back, and yet you don't give Hisagi the dignity of his own title._

"So can Urahara get us to Hueco Mundo?" Madarame demanded. "If he gets some of us through to there, then we find Hisagi and he helps us assassinate Aizen and get the prisoners out --"

Sasakibe held up one hand to stop Madarame. He had drawn his lips together disapprovingly at the word 'assassination'. "We have already discussed some of this, but without Soi Fong-taichou and Shiba-dono being present. If I may?" He turned to Ukitake.

Ukitake nodded. "Go on, Sasakibe."

Sasakibe coughed. "Very well. We have five main objectives. Remove Aizen. Bring out any prisoners. Distract Ichimaru and if possible strike at him while he lacks reinforcements from Hueco Mundo. Secure Karakura during this to avoid living casualties. Rouse Seireitai and take control of it."

The other vice-captains and Madarame exchanged quick glances. It seemed that while they'd heard some of the plans, the full scope of the operation was a surprise to them. It was a surprise to Soi Fong as well, but she didn't intend to show it.

Shiba Kuukaku whistled. "You don't plan by halves, Ukitake, I'll say that for you. And what do we do for an encore?"

"We don't have the option of leaving Aizen time to react," Ukitake said patiently. "If he feels seriously threatened, all _he_ needs to do is retreat into Hueco Mundo and defend himself there. All _Ichimaru_ needs to do is retreat into Seireitai and raise the killing stone barriers. Either would hold us out long enough for the other one to bring forces through and subdue us together. Ichimaru may not have many loyal followers, but he has the minions that Aizen has given him, and enough time-servers and thugs to control the lower ranks, short of anything other than all-out rebellion."

Soi Fong nodded. She felt that his assessment of the situation was correct.

"And there are the people living outside the walls of Seireitai," Sasakibe added. "All eighty districts. Aizen knows that we have a duty to protect them. If Ichimaru seals Seireitai and then Aizen brings in Menos Grandes or Espada, they will be ground against the walls, hammer against anvil."

Kotetsu Isane winced and bit her lip. Of course she was sensitive on the subject, Soi Fong reflected. It had, after all, been the tool that Aizen had used to force Unohana to surrender.

She herself had been barely conscious at the time, shuddering with phantom pains from her missing arm, trying to give orders to Oomeda and then remembering that he was dead. Unohana had been in command in Seireitai after her group's hasty retreat from Hueco Mundo, and the captains and vice-captains who had survived the fake Karakura disaster had been unconscious, disabled, or at any rate unfit to try to take down Aizen and his people. Unohana had brought in as many civilians as she could before raising the barriers, but she had been in an untenable position, with Aizen and his forces camped outside the walls and threatening to ravage the countryside and turn his Hollows loose to devour the helpless souls.

Unohana had acted according to her best judgment. She had negotiated surrender terms (Aizen as ruler, Unohana herself to surrender, no civilians to be harmed, the shinigami to continue their normal duties) and taken the gamble that Aizen would keep his word. She had also smuggled the other captains and vice-captains out of the city through the maintenance tunnels, one step ahead of Aizen's people. Soi Fong had had enough time to give certain orders to her own Covert Operations people, and one day, one day soon, the occupying forces in Seireitai would have a very nasty surprise.

The thought of the surrender still galled her. But what would she have done, herself, if fate had placed her in Unohana's position? How would she have managed? Would she have kept the walls up and left the civilians to scream outside, and waited for Aizen to find a way to crack the defenses and come through?

Little surprise that Kotetsu Isane was pale and silent. Unohana's last order to her had been to leave with the others and to care for Ukitake-taichou and the wounded. It had only been later that they had heard how Aizen had taken Unohana-taichou and the best of the Fourth Division away in chains and collars.

"So how do you plan to split our forces?" Soi Fong asked. "I'm assuming that you are leaving Karakura to Urahara Kisuke and his group."

Ukitake nodded. "That was my intention. They know the ground and are best equipped to defend it. How do your numbers stand? I understand that a couple of the Vizards are with you."

Soi Fong nodded curtly. "But not reliably fit to fight. Kensei is crippled, and Mashiro cannot control her -- her transformation. You know. The thing that they do to access their Hollow selves and gain power." She gestured vaguely. The whole thing was still rather incomprehensible and somewhat disgusting to her. "And Rose is incapable, and will be so for the foreseeable future. They would help if they can, but we can't consider them definite assets. Other than that, we have a few locals who can assist, but I would only consider them as seated officer level, if that. The mod soul Kon, the human Arisawa Tatsuki, Urahara's two assistants, Kurosaki Isshin --"

"Who?" Madarame asked.

"Kurosaki Ichigo's father," Soi Fong snapped. If he couldn't be bothered to read the regular updates and reports, that was hardly _her_ fault. "There's something about him. He's more than just a human, and Urahara says he's reliable. But he's keeping a low profile and refusing all contact. Probably wants to keep his daughters safe." She suppressed her indignation with an effort. Just because the man didn't feel a proper sense of duty wasn't his daughters' fault. "Urahara says we can rely on him to help hold down an area of the town if we're forced on the defensive, but we shouldn't expect any offensive assistance."

"He has already lost his son," Ukitake said gently. "We can hardly expect him to give us more than that."

"Lost for good?" Madarame asked. "Grimmjow says that Aizen turned him into some sort of half-Hollow. So if we can fix that, we can get him back."

Soi Fong noted but did not remark (yet) on Madarame's overly familiar mention of the Arrancar renegade. "The boy's a Vizard," she said. "If he _could_ regain control of himself, he'd be a vital asset. We know how well he fights. But as long as he stays under Aizen's thumb, he's just as much of a danger. The group that goes into Hueco Mundo will have to bear that in mind."

"Right you are, Soi Fong-taichou," Madarame said, leaning back with a satisfied air. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had them written on his forehead. He was planning a nice simple chat with the boy, a straightforward reconversion, and a glorious fight or two.

Fool. It couldn't possibly be that easy.

Soi Fong turned back to Ukitake. "Our mobile forces therefore consist of Yoruichi-sama, Tessai, and myself. Tessai has expressed a wish to remain with Urahara in Karakura: he feels they will operate best there as a team."

"And Urahara's . . . assistants?" Ukitake asked, a note of distaste in his voice. He must have seen the reports about those two children. Well, maybe children. Soi Fong had serious doubts about their childishness, and even their humanity.

"Will remain at the shop," Soi Fong said. "If it is attacked, then they will assist in defending it, but you could hardly expect them not to do that. Urahara has said that he will not be using them in any aggressive strikes." She didn't comment on whether or not she thought Urahara had been telling the truth about that.

Ukitake nodded. "Much as I had expected." He leaned forward, steepling his hands. "Now, Sasakibe and I are considering the following teams. I am expecting everyone to give their opinion on these plans."

Heads nodded around the table. Ise was scratching down quick notes, not looking at her brush and paper, her eyes on Ukitake. Iba's face was set in lines of dogged resignation: obviously he could guess that he was going to be placed on the defensive, and equally obviously he would rather have been on the offensive. Hinamori was biting her lip in stubborn dignity and self-control, and Madarame was grinning like a wolf. Shiba Kuukaku looked cheerfully ferocious, while Sasakibe was perfectly, totally bland.

Sasakibe must not be too pleased about his planned assignment either, Soi Fong decided.

"Firstly, the Hueco Mundo group. Ise-kun, Madarame-kun, you two will be acting as joint leaders, and we will shortly discuss you taking one or more junior shinigami with you, as backup and to ensure that at least one of your group has not been subjected to Aizen's shikai. I would suggest that you take at least one trained healer from our reserves."

"But, Ukitake-taichou --" Hinamori started.

Ukitake continued, ignoring her. "Hinamori-kun and Iba-kun will be with me. We will be functioning as the group to draw out and strike at Ichimaru and his men. We will be working with some of our reserves here, and I hope that Shiba Kuukaku will prepare the ground beforehand with some of her very best explosives."

"Glad to oblige," Shiba Kuukaku said happily. "Show me the terrain you want and I'll make a minefield of it."

Ukitake nodded. "I don't intend for you to be present there, though. You, Sasakibe, and Soi Fong-taichou," he turned to Soi Fong, "will be busy retaking Seireitai."

Soi Fong blinked. "Please explain," she said. She had expected to be on the Hueco Mundo group, or at least with Ukitake.

"I understand from the reports of our spies that Seireitai is unhappy under Ichimaru's rule," Ukitake said.

Soi Fong nodded. "Yes. Ah. You intend us to represent the old guard, if you like."

Shiba Kuukaku was nodding. "Me for the aristocracy, Sasakibe as a reminder of Yamamoto, Soi Fong here for backup and to make sure we don't get stabbed in the back. I like it."

The little suppressed quiver of Sasakibe's mouth suggested that he did _not_ like it, that he would far rather be with one of the other groups, and that he and Ukitake had already discussed the matter beforehand and he had lost. "If we can retake Seireitai," he said neutrally, "then Ichimaru will be unable to fall back on it and barrier himself inside it. Also, once we have the city, we can send out forces to assist Ukitake-taichou. With any luck, Aizen will be preoccupied in Hueco Mundo at that point."

Soi Fong considered the plan. "I dislike relying on luck," she said. "But it would be a vital strategic objective. Once I contact my people inside Seireitai --"

Iba looked as if he was about to ask some sort of stupid question such as _what people inside Seireitai?_ then reconsidered. Probably he had realised that of course she had people inside Seireitai.

She had people everywhere. That was what being head of Covert Operations _meant_.

"-- we will be able to move against the people whom Ichimaru put in power," she concluded. "Take them out and rally the shinigami who are still loyal, and I think this has a good chance of success."

Ukitake nodded. "I realise this depends on my group occupying Ichimaru for the time that you need to take Seireitai. Hinamori, Iba, and Kotetsu will be with me, but we cannot be sure what forces he will bring against us, or if we can manage to bring him to battle in the area that Shiba-dono here will have prepared. We know that he has Kira Izuru with him, and some Hollows, and some shinigami who are loyal to him. Frankly . . ." He shrugged. "If he can draw more forces from Aizen, then the Hueco Mundo team will have an easier time of it, but we may have some problems."

Hinamori looked as if she was chewing over the thought of getting a chance to strike at Ichimaru. She didn't make any comment, but the idea seemed not to displease her.

"Can we do anything to sour the relationship between Aizen and Ichimaru?" Ise asked, putting down her brush for a moment. "Or is there any way that Urahara Kisuke can jam communications between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo?" She glanced towards Madarame. "As far as I can see, we will be pretty much on our own once we're there: it's more important that Aizen and Ichimaru be unable to communicate, than that _we_ should be able to."

Madarame nodded. "She's right. The less they know, the better. Anything Urahara can do with that, Soi Fong-taichou?"

"I'll ask," Soi Fong said. "It's a good thought. I don't think we can do anything about Aizen's relationship with Ichimaru, though. The best we can hope for may be to get Ichimaru reacting impulsively when he comes out after Ukitake-taichou. Maybe a few of my agents can work to shake the mood in Seireitai: put up graffiti, start rumours, and so on. If he's already irritated by us, he might take the bait all the more readily. And speaking of bait, how do we plan to lure him?"

"I think there is one thing that would definitely bring him out in person," Hinamori said softly. "He'd come if he thought Matsumoto Rangiku was there."

Soi Fong squinted at Hinamori thoughtfully. "You may have a good idea there," she said. "My people tell me that he still doesn't believe she's dead. But then, with his paranoia in general . . ."

Ukitake nodded. "A good thought, Hinamori-kun. How should we pass him the information, Soi Fong-taichou?"

It was almost a pleasure to have a tactical problem of this nature to think about. "The easiest and safest option is to leak it through an innocent third party," she said briskly. "It needs to be convincing, and Ichimaru will be more convinced if he believes that he got the information against the informant's wishes."

Ukitake frowned. "Are you suggesting that we should leak the information to some innocent who will confess it when Ichimaru has them tortured?"

Soi Fong twitched her shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't think he'll believe it any other way."

"Unacceptable," he said shortly. His reiatsu crackled for a moment, like suppressed lightning or thunder far away. "Surely if one of your agents can pass the information that Matsumoto was seen in a particular area, that would be enough."

Soi Fong tapped a finger on the table. "No, Ukitake-taichou," she said. "Ichimaru is paranoid. He would question the person who provided that information. In person. I believe you underrate his paranoia and his current mental instability. And if one of my agents were tortured, I cannot entirely guarantee that he would hold his tongue. Even if he were to commit suicide on the spot, that would only rouse Ichimaru's suspicion. This information has to come from a channel that Ichimaru considers safe and reliable, or he won't accept it, and our plan will founder."

Ukitake nodded. "Very well. Then find another alternative, Soi Fong-taichou, if you please, because I am unhappy with the option of sacrificing yet more innocents in this war."

Soi Fong could feel the eyes of everyone else on her in the silence.

Yoruichi-sama had warned her that something like this might happen.

_It's quite possible that Ukitake-taichou and you will disagree during this meeting. Remember that the others will be watching you. Be careful, my dear. Some of them are young and reckless. Don't give them an excuse to think about disobedience._

_Yes, but you yourself in your own time --_

_I did in my own time and place, yes. But don't be the one to give them the excuse to doubt him._

She nodded equably. "In that case, the next option would be to let some of his trusted men think that they had seen her or found her trail. I would suggest finding a woman of suitable build, disguising her as Matsumoto Rangiku, and letting her cross a patrol's path before escaping. Maybe let it look as if she is injured and travelling to a meeting, if that can be done with sufficient subtlety. Choose a candidate, and I'll brief her for the mission. If Madarame can update me on where Ichimaru's patrols are operating, and give me the names of any patrol leaders that Ichimaru would trust, and Shiba-dono can help me choose a location in their patrol zones, then we can see about laying the bait." Her tone, her manner, said _I have provided my advice: you have given orders: you are the acting captain commander, and I obey you._

There were nods around the table. "Very good," Ukitake said. "We'll go over the ambush details later. Now, the Hueco Mundo group. Your priorities will be somewhat dependent on what Hisagi can tell you, but if some of the Captains _are_ prisoners there, then releasing them would obviously be a good idea."

Ise and Madarame both nodded. "Do we know where in Hueco Mundo Urahara will be dropping us, Soi Fong-taichou?" Madarame asked. "From what I heard, last time the group came out in the desert outside Aizen's base, and they had to find their way in."

"Yes," Kotetsu Isane said. "But on that occasion, Kurosaki and his group had already forced their way in: we didn't have to worry so much about setting off alarms or passing guards. This time, it might be harder getting in without alerting them to your presence."

Soi Fong smiled thinly. "Actually, Urahara says that he may have a solution to that. Both Kurotsuchi and the Espada called Szayel Apollo have sets of rooms that breach the walls or actually extend outside the walls. Holding pens and that sort of thing. He believes that if he can open a Garganta into their areas, then it might get ignored as merely experimental debris from their usual habits. Of course, the team would have to handle any immediate problems, but . . ." Her shrug suggested that she was confident they could manage that.

"I like it," Madarame said. "They'll have the normal entrances watched closer than ever, after Grimmjow and Sado got out. This'd get us round that."

Ise nodded. "Kurotsuchi's territory might be easier," she added. "Assuming he follows the same laboratory practices that he did when he was with the Gotei 13, the same layout to his working rooms and so on . . . we would probably find it easier to get out without causing an alarm."

"I'll ask Urahara," Soi Fong said. "Has the prisoner been able to provide any information on the layout of Aizen's base?"

"Not very much," Ukitake said ruefully. "Actually, I was thinking we could bring him in to ask him a few more questions. Some other points of view might be . . . enlightening."

"Certainly," Soi Fong said.

Ukitake held up a hand. "Just one thing. No death threats and no torture threats. He's been quite cooperative so far."

"No threats at all?" Soi Fon said, disappointed. "Not even an implication or two?"

"Maybe an implication or two," Ukitake said. "But you haven't met this one, Soi Fong-taichou. Threatening him would be about as useful as threatening Zaraki-taichou would have been."

Soi Fong suppressed a sigh. "Oh. One of that sort."

Madarame muttered something.

"Ah," Ukitake said, "thank you for volunteering, Madarame. Please go and fetch him in."

As Madarame shuffled off to find the Arrancar, back rigid and shoulders expressive of his thoughts about anyone who'd criticize Zaraki by so much as vague implication, Shiba Kuukaku leaned across. "It's true, Soi Fong. The worst you could do to this one is threaten _not_ to fight him."

"Bah," Soi Fong spat. "Why couldn't our defector have been an intelligent man? Is that too much to ask for?"

"Oh, he's not unintelligent," Ukitake said. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "He's just terribly, terribly focused. I believe he could give us more than information, in fact: I suggest we send him with the Hueco Mundo group."

Ise looked as if she had bitten into a pickle. "Ukitake-taichou --" she said uncertainly, clearly not wanting to outright disagree, but clearly not happy with the idea either.

"Might work," Shiba Kuukaku said. "If you think you can trust him."

Ukitake glanced round the table. Kotetsu dropped her eyes. Hinamori looked uncertain. Iba grunted, but didn't say anything. Sasakibe considered, then gave a brisk nod.

Soi Fong turned the option over and over in her mind. If he could be trusted, then the prisoner would be a vast asset to the infiltration scheme. If he was going to betray them, then it'd be hopeless from the start. She'd had no opportunity to gauge this Grimmjow yet, but while every instinct recoiled from trusting a Hollow, let alone one of Aizen's pet Hollows, from what she'd been told he wasn't a Hollow any longer. How much difference would that make, to have the constant hunger for souls removed?

She would have trusted Zaraki. She wouldn't have _liked_ it, but she would have trusted him.

"Let's see him," she finally said.

The door swung open. Madarame shepherded a blue-haired, thuggish, wiry man into the room. He was dressed in plain shinigami clothing, and carried himself with the unconscious swagger of a tomcat who'd been victor of too many brawls to count.

He also had a rising black eye and a split lip.

Ukitake considered him for a long moment, then turned to Madarame, raising an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Bare-handed combat practice," Madarame said hastily. "Just to keep everyone busy while they were waiting --"

"Yeah, and you should have seen what the others looked like," the prisoner said with deep satisfaction.

Soi Fong wasted half a second itemising all the qualities she would have liked a prisoner to have had -- intelligent, repentant, up to date on all Aizen's security procedures and secret plans -- then sighed and resigned herself to reality. "So," she said. "What can you tell us about the situation in Hueco Mundo?"

Grimmjow looked her up and down, and sneered. "I've already been through that crap with all these others. Why're you asking me even more damn stupid questions?"

"You're here so that we can make you an offer," Ukitake cut in before Soi Fong could do more than sneer back. "We have no interest in deliberately invading Hueco Mundo in its normal state: the Hollows who live there are part of the natural cycle, and while we hope that some day they will be purified, as long as they don't prey on the living, we leave them be. Surely you must see that Aizen Sousuke has disrupted this status quo."

"Hnh." Grimmjow chewed that thought over. "So what're you saying? That if you can get rid of Aizen and we don't come pissing around with living souls, we got no quarrel?"

"Do you actually want a quarrel with us?" Ukitake leaned forward, voice hoarse but persuasive. "Fights are one thing. Outright war is something else. From what you've said, you had friends. Is the current situation really what they died for?"

"They died like they wanted to die," Grimmjow snarled, but it was more of a reflex than genuine fury. "They died fighting."

"We can give you that too," Soi Fong said, pitching her voice like a knife. "If that's what you want."

Grimmjow gave her a grudging nod. "So what do you want?" He turned back to the others in the room, glaring around like a bear baited by dogs. "All of you. What do you fucking want from me? Because this isn't what I want from you! You talk nice and you act nice, but I get more fucking honesty out of him," he pointed a finger at Madarame, "when he tells me to stop acting like a fucking idiot and knocks me down. What do I want? I want to be what I was or I want to go out fighting. That's what I want. Give me that and I'll cooperate. I'll do whatever you damn well want. Because without that I'm fucking _nothing_."

"I think that you underrate yourself," Ukitake said, and there was an odd gentleness to his voice.

"Think what you want," Grimmjow snarled.

Ukitake turned to Soi Fong. "Do you think that Urahara could return him to his previous state?"

"Urahara said that he'd have to examine the subject," Soi Fong said grudgingly. "He didn't say that it was _impossible_. But it might take time. And it'd be useful to have Inoue Orihime, so that he could look at what she did to him."

"The Inoue girl would be an asset in any case," Shiba Kuukaku put in. "I may have something to say about that later."

"So you can do something," Grimmjow said.

Ukitake coughed, triggering a tense surge of nervous glances from everyone in the room except Grimmjow, then said hoarsely, "Maybe. Possibly. Are you willing to help us, given that possibility?"

Grimmjow shrugged, and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. "I'll take that chance. Okay. You got a deal. What do you want from me? Me to go into Las Noches with your team to try to fuck Aizen's shit up where it'll hurt him the most?"

"Yes," Ukitake said. "But I need you to understand that you will be working _with_ Ise-fukutaichou and Madarame here. They will be the ones calling the shots. And if you can't accept that, I suggest that you say so now."

Grimmjow chewed on his lower lip, then tossed his hair. "Well, fuck that. I'm not going to take orders from Madarame or Ise here. But you're not gonna give me what _I_ want unless you get your people out of there and take Aizen down. So fair enough. I'll listen to them if they say be sneaky. But if we run into Aizen, all bets are off. Right?"

"Accepted," Ukitake said.

"Right," Madarame said. He offered Grimmjow his hand to shake. Grimmjow took it, and the two men tried to crush each others' fingers in a traditional manly way.

"I think this is where I make my suggestion," Shiba Kuukaku said. "It's about Inoue Orihime."

"The girl's abilities would be useful," Sasakibe said. "But the girl's not a trained fighter -- even if she did get some practice," he added, with an apologetic glance at Ukitake, "and I don't think it advisable to make her an essential part of any of our plans. We can't be sure of her mental state."

Grimmjow disengaged his hand from Madarame's, both of them trying to look as if they hadn't done their best to break the other's knuckles, and snorted. "The girl does what she's told these days. If you tell her to follow you, she'll do whatever you say."

Shiba Kuukaku nodded. "So ideally you want someone on the team who _knows_ her. Knows her well enough to judge how stable she is, and if she's going to break down or if she can help you."

Ukitake nodded slowly. "A good thought. I don't want to send Sado, though. The boy's still recovering. I don't know how well anyone here knows her . . . Madarame? You were on that visit to the world of the living." _And the only one of that group still alive and with us_ hung in the air.

Madarame shrugged, and shoved his hands into his sash. "I wasn't staying with her, didn't have much to do with her. I can make a guess, sure . . ."

"I can do better than that," Shiba Kuukaku said smugly. "I brought one of our trainees with us. He's Academy final-year level, but talented: I'd have been sending him to you in a few weeks anyhow. He's got the best reasons in the world to be able to judge the girl's sanity and get her to help us." She paused for emphasis. "He's her brother. Inoue Sora. Died a few years back, spent a while as a Hollow, got purified and sent on by Kurosaki himself."

Soi Fong suppressed her habitual flare of annoyance at anyone who knew something which Covert Operations should already have been aware of, and nodded. "It seems a good idea. But if he's just a trainee -- will he be able to handle that level of reiatsu and combat?"

"Hell no, he won't be able to handle Captain-level combat." Shiba Kuukaku shrugged. "I said he was talented, not that he was your level. But if that happens, then he can stay well back out of the fights. In any case, you're not sending him along to do fighting. You're sending him along to handle his sister. Maybe to save his sister. Right?"

"Another fucking waste of space," Grimmjow muttered.

Ukitake nodded crisply. "I'll see him together with the Hueco Mundo team after this meeting, but I favour this idea. Any dissenters?"

He glanced round the table. Everyone was nodding.

"Very good." He turned back to Grimmjow. "You've told us that you believe Aizen Sousuke is holding at least two Captain-level prisoners, but that nobody knows who they are or what their condition is."

Grimmjow shrugged. "Well, maybe some of the others know. I don't. They're in his private set of rooms, where he keeps his own lab and his own prison cells and all that shit. Even Kurotsuchi and Szayel don't get let in there. Sometimes one of their people who tried to get in gets held up as an example and taken to pieces real slow. There's some sort of guard in there as well, not just traps. He's got secretive, these last few months. I mean, he was bad enough before Kurosaki broke in and there was all the fighting, but since then he don't tell anyone nothing, if you know what I mean. Except maybe Ichimaru. And Ichimaru talks even less. He just smiles."

"Clearly a priority," Soi Fong said. She chose not to speculate on the identity of the prisoners. It wouldn't help. "Ise, can you deal with any lock or trap kidou?"

Ise frowned. "Soi Fong-taichou, I don't know. I'm good, but we all know that Aizen is very good. I can't be sure that I can open something he's locked. The best I may be able to to may be to make it look as if it was a Hollow or Arrancar trying to break in, since Grimmjow has confirmed that they sometimes make the attempt." She nodded politely to the ex-Arrancar. "That would at least confuse the issue, or make it look like a normal thing, rather than a shinigami effort."

"Right," Madarame said. "That might buy us some time. So our objectives are to get in there, make contact with Hisagi, assess the situation, maybe pick up Inoue Orihime, get into Aizen's private rooms and bring out any prisoners, and kill Aizen. Do I have that right?"

"Sounds good to me," Grimmjow said. "Let's do it."

Soi Fong had the very strong impression that Ukitake was struggling not to sigh. "Very well. Tomorrow the Hueco Mundo group moves to the world of the living, and Urahara prepares to open a Garganta for them into Hueco Mundo. By which point we need to have the bait set up for Ichimaru --"

Soi Fong raised her hand. "We need to have the bait moving today, Ukitake-taichou. Allow at least one day's delay for it to be reported to him. I suggest we select the battlefield at once."

"Agreed," Ukitake said. "Very well. At the close of this meeting, Shiba-dono and Madarame are to arrange the battlefield, and Madarame is to assign a group from his squad to guard her while she sets explosives. Kotetsu, you and Hinamori will prepare tactics and scout out the area and its approaches to Seireitai, consult with Madarame and Shiba-dono, and provide me with a strategy. Soi Fong-taichou, you and Sasakibe will consult on how to take back Seireitai, and you will also need to arrange the bait, and if you could manage it, I would like an estimate of Ichimaru's current resources in Seireitai. Ise, you and Grimmjow will assess Inoue Sora's abilities, and select a healer from the available shinigami, and discuss your operation: coordinate with Madarame when he gets back. Iba, I want everyone prepared for battle or evacuation." He rose to his feet, and everyone else stood as well. "My friends, whatever may come, I am proud to have served beside you. Let us go out and bring down ruin on those who have betrayed their honour and their friends."

There were nods around the table. Slightly embarrassed nods in a few cases, but nods nonetheless. Soi Fong caught Sasakibe's eyes and began to walk around the table towards him, already considering the best method of taking Ichimaru's picked men out of their positions. Madarame went to throw the doors open, taking a somewhat dramatic breath of fresh air.

Then he paused, looking at the shinigami from his squad who were guarding the doors. "Where's Rikichi?" he asked.

A muttered reply. Madarame's voice, louder, overlying it: "What do you mean, you don't know where he is?"

Silence spread through the room like a cold hand, cutting off words half-spoken, and the sky was abruptly that much darker.


	12. Gin: On Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Gin is on top of Soul Society -- by liralenli

Gin: On Top

  


_Encoded to the 28th Publication of "The Tale of Heike" through a juxtaposition of the date written for the page number, and the number of days since Kage entered Seireitei for the word count, and the katakana used for the Medieval Chinese-script text against the hiragana for the Japanese text of the message itself._

My Commander,

The rule of law in Seireitei has deteriorated badly in the last few months. While the bulk of the population has seen evidence of the despotic tendencies of our new ruler, there has been little outright rebellion against it. The people of Seireitei have never been that good at not sticking out; but they're learning quickly.

Retaliation is extremely harsh against those that defy his rule openly, and the open cruelty of his punishments has made all action extremely covert on the side of the resistance.

This aids our cause as there is extreme resentment building against the present regime. It is an avalanche awaiting a trigger point. I have high confidence in my ability to deliver more power than I'd hoped for at the beginning of this assignment.

\-- Kage

* * *

  
Hirokawa Mayu did her best to hide behind a pillar as the man on the rack screamed and screamed and didn't stop screaming. Ichimaru Gin looked bored, picking his nails even as his burly assistant kept tightening the screws to horrifying popping and crackling sounds.

There was no way to see which way those slit eyes were looking, and the Fourth Division healer didn't want to be the one that finally caught that mad silver gaze.

"Stop." Gin said, and the assistant stopped throwing his body weight into the device. The screams continued for a little longer, and then ended in pants and sobbing breaths. "Tell me who you're working with, who gave you food and support?"

The man on the rack rolled his head in whimpering denial.

"Damn me if I don't hate the strong ones," Gin drawled with a sigh and signaled to the rack man again: more screams made Mayu put her hands over her ears.

"Come on, tell me," purred that soft drawl as the screaming died down. "Or I'll just haveta use you as an example, the Hollows in the pits are always hungry. Won't ya just love being just torn ta bits?"

Mayu shuddered even as the man moaned.

"Hell, if you give me what I want, I'll have little Mayu-chan there heal ya right up, you'll be right as rain. Justa few words, names of guys that can stick up for themselves, huh?"

The moaning rasp of breath made Mayu close her eyes hard. The sound of spitting made her eyes snap open, to see Gin grimace, and wipe his cheek off before shaking his head, his face hardening.

"Hmm... I think I've just thought of something worse. Mayu-chan, come here."

Trembling, Mayu walked up, "Y...y... yes... s... s... sir?"

"Heal him. Heal him up good."

Mayu felt her jaw drop.

"Heal him all up, so we can play this fun little game again..."

Mayu wasn't sure which of them whimpered more, the man on the table or herself.

* * *

  
Kira felt hungry all the time. He made little cakes, cookies, snacks, cream horns, and red bean mochi balls; and he ate them and shared them with anyone that even looked at him, until no one seemed to see him any more.

He did his best to just ignore or work around the funny bone spurs he'd gotten since... since...

He ate another cake.

Ichimaru-sama walked into Kira's rooms, and he shone like an angel. Kira bowed down to him as was proper for a humble man before a god.

"Come on, Izuru, I have something I want you to do."

Kira followed his master through the throne room that used to be the meeting room for the Central Forty-Six. The chambers now echoed emptily with the scattered sounds of people running either toward Ichimaru-sama to bow to him properly, or away as quickly as they could run.

Ichimaru-sama went through the elaborate passes needed to open the seven locks on the Chambers which were always closed, now, and sent his bodyguards ahead of him to do their job. There was no screaming today.

His hopes were raised when they met a guard detail outside the building, all surrounding a battered man with chains on his arms. His reiatsu made Kira drool. Like strong wine and beef on a cold day, but there wasn't the sweet tang of fear. His anger and courage boiled up when Ichimaru-sama said, "All right, boys, let's get this little traitor to the Pits."

The old Hollow Pits had always been empty before, as far as Kira knew, but now they were in use as often as Ichimaru-sama could find examples to be made in them. Hollows of all shapes and sizes were kept in the Pits and people thrown down. Usually. Once in a while someone was too strong for the normal run of Hollow. That's when Kira would get his chance to please Ichimaru-sama

As they drew closer the guard detail was more careful about clearing a path about them. There was a crowd at the nearest Pit, some sitting in the common stands, some watching from Family platforms. A few lower house nobles had a small entourage and a servant with umbrellas for the women. The crowds were bigger now, filled with people that used this as a regular form of entertainment, regulars that had their spots for observation.

But Ichimaru-sama held Kira back. "I want this one to last a while, Izuru, jus' hold on."

Kira knelt by Ichimaru-sama's knee as the man was unchained and shoved over the lip of the Pit. The crowd roared almost as loudly as the dozens of trapped Hollows in the hole as the prisoner shoved off the wall in order to jump off the skull of one of the Hollows. Ichimaru-sama laughed his wild laugh, and then brandished a sheathed zanpakutou. "Here... try and make a fight of it, will ya?!" he called, and threw the sword at the prisoner.

The man caught it, put his back to a corner, and defended himself against the Hollows. He and the sword moved as one to cleanse each hungry ghost that came right at him. Kira keened softly; that was what he wanted to be doing, cleansing those Hollows, that was his duty; but the hunger gnawing at his heart, his soul, and belly made him want to eat up the one Ichimaru-sama wished dead.

Then five Hollows ganged up on him all at once. One leapt up into the corner to fall behind him and take a chunk out of his shoulder, the other lamed a leg even as a third snapped his left arm above the elbow while he cleansed the two that had charged in from his right. He managed to turn the point of his sword on the mask of the one on his leg, but screamed as the one on his arm shook him as a terrier would shake a rat. The one on his back took another bite at the back of his neck. Kira drooled helplessly as the man was ripped apart. He whimpered softly and Ichimaru-sama stroked his hair.

The crowd applauded and settled back, calling for tea or sweets. Kira's stomach growled.

"Hungry, my pet?" Gin asked.

Kira nodded, blushing and ashamed.

"Patience, Izuru, patience, your time will come. Your time will come."

* * *

  
Gin watched and seethed behind his grin. He'd gotten squat from the damned arrogant pup after a second session. A threatened third hadn't gotten fuckall either, and after getting called a Puppet King, he'd had enough. Showed him who was King.

Given the asshole a better sendoff than he deserved. Gin liked seeing the guy's legs getting eaten off while he screamed. The crunches had been satisfying.

He had this all under control.

He was keepin' everyone safe. Rulin' all this was easy as cookin' noodles. Take out the bad guys, the ones that were upsetting things. Keep rooting out all the idiots that wanted him gone.

Find 'em, eliminate 'em. An iron hand, under a smile no one could fathom, and he had everything under control. The sick loser was probably dead on a hillside in the snow. The rebels and mutterers were getting harder and harder to find, so there must be fewer of them. He had everyone and everything else under control.

The Houses were licking his feet, with their so-polite clapping, their pavilions against the rain. They had kowtowed to him the most easily, and it was good to see their stiff necks bend to him. Ha, who woulda thought some rat from the deserts of Rukongai would have them bending to him? He smiled as he watched the Rukongai urchins jumping up and down and screaming in delight as the Hollows fought over the last scraps of the rebel, licking the walls for his blood. That's what that asshole deserved, fighting him.

He stroked Izuru's soft blond hair. It was jus' like old times, Izuru doing every damned thing he told him to do, all the other minions running around whenever he said go. Top of the heap. The whole damned Soul Society heap, built on the bodies of the wicked and the innocent alike. He sure liked being on top.

Lot better standing up here on the lip of the Pit than howling and slobbering at the bottom.

Lot better than bein' thirsty and hungry all the time.

Lot better than trying to get across the sand without water or food.

For an instant, Gin's hand trembled. He remembered soft peach-colored hair and storm-gray eyes. That was what he had to do next: he'd already sent out search parties, maybe he needed to go out and look around himself. How could anyone miss her? Matsumoto Rangiku couldn't be hiding from _him_ , she must be hurt somewhere, needing him. Kira had said that he'd stopped her bleeding as best as he'd been able to before the False Karakura had tumbled to the ground.

He trusted his Izuru. He'd never lie to Gin.

The crowd cheered as the guards brought out another prisoner, and he felt Izuru quiver like an eager hound at his feet.

He was King. Now all he needed was his Queen.


	13. Karakura: Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a pressure on the world. -- by incandescens

**KARAKURA: WAITING**

 

Tatsuki has been training for months with Soi Fong-taichou. She remembers to call the other woman _Captain_ , because Soi Fong expects it, but she's _not_ one of their soldiers and she _hasn't_ joined their damn shinigami divisions and she _isn't_ going to serve under any of them. She's fighting for herself and for Ichigo and for Orihime and for Karakura, and not for people that she'd never met before and who never cared about _her_ until she was useful to them.

Liking's something different. She thinks that she'd like Soi Fong if Soi Fong was the sort of person to let herself be liked. She does like the cat-woman Shihouin Yoruichi, and Tessai's all right, and the kids are cute, but Urahara is so totally greasy and oily and generally untrustworthy that she's surprised Ichigo was stupid enough to trust the man.

She wears herself down every day with school and practice, and with each passing morning she hopes that today will be _the_ day when Soi Fong and the others act. It's clear that they're planning something: they're just waiting for the right moment.

It's a different sort of hope from her first hope, when she used to run to the shop every day and expect to see Ichigo back from the other end of nowhere. He'd have Orihime with him, and Sado, and Ishida, because Ichigo never left anyone behind. Ever.

She had to get over that hope before Soi Fong would agree to teach her anything. She had to leave it to wither in the winter winds and the dirty ice and the dusty snow. The days had gone by and Ichigo wasn't coming home. Orihime was still where they'd taken her. The person who faked Ichigo at school and home (she'd had it explained to her but it made no sense -- how could souls be artificial? -- it must have come from somewhere) was a bad joke.

 _I will teach you whatever you are capable of learning,_ Soi Fong had told her.

She's let her extra karate practice lapse in favour of learning real fighting and real killing. She knows that her sensei thinks that she's brooding over Orihime, and she lets him think it: it saves her having to make excuses. When she does attend the weekly karate lesson, she has to force herself to remember the correct forms of kick and blow and kata. It's easy to see her fellow students in terms of weak points and failed protections, to count the ways to cripple them or kill them.

At the back of her mind, this troubles her. At the back of her mind, she wonders if she is going to be able to put this away once everything's over -- because it can't go on forever, can it? -- and how one stops looking at people this way.

 _Fuck it, Ichigo_ , she thinks, _your dad's a doctor and you wanted to protect people, and I only practiced karate because I wanted to fight well, not because I wanted to take people apart, and, and . . ._

There aren't any answers: not waking, not sleeping, and not in dreams. There is only the body's exercise and the mind's constant weariness. She knows enough to know that Karakura shouldn't feel this way. Like a hunting ground, and all of them the rabbits.

 _Kurosaki and his friends failed to bring Inoue Orihime out,_ Soi Fong had said. _I am not training you so that you can go and be killed along with them. I am training you so that at some point you can keep yourself alive, and maybe others as well. You must know when to cut your losses._ And with that she had turned away as though that answered any sort of question.

 _Kurosaki Ichigo beat me once,_ Tatsuki had said in response. _Then he stopped fighting me. I don't stop fighting._

Soi Fong had nodded, once.

The worst of it is not having anyone that she can talk to. Keigo doesn't want to know: he's retreated from all of it, and he goes to school as normal and pretends that nothing's wrong. Mizuiro has gone to the other extreme: he didn't believe it, any of it, he claimed that it was a lie, and went out to find out whose lie it was, and now he squints at her from across the classroom when he thinks she's not looking, as though she's going to start growing something out of the back of her head.

Well, fuck them. She's doing what she _can_.

She knows they don't tell her everything. Not even Soi Fong, who's been known to occasionally "let something slip" when Tatsuki just can't focus. She doesn't know who the children at the shop are. She doesn't know who the strangers really are, the green-haired girl or the man with the problem with his leg or the one she's not supposed to know is down in the cellar, and whenever she tries to ask she gets headed off and told to go practice her kata. _Shinigami who had an accident,_ and that's all she knows.

It's probably for her own good. Yeah. That's what Ichigo tried last time, and it worked so damn well that time too.

The shop door is in front of her, and she stares at it wearily for a long moment before she knocks. The little boy lets her in. He's twitching with eagerness, enough that she finds the energy to look around.

The kotatsu's broken. The only people there are the shopkeeper, fiddling with some precision instruments and a piece of jewellery, and the cat preening a paw. He looks up at her arrival, and gives her a troubled, uncertain smile. "Why, hello, Arisawa-san! What a pleasant surprise to see you here --"

"Where's Soi Fong-taichou?" she interrupts.

"Out of town," he says. "Very, very far out of town." And he picks up his fan and gives her a half-glance over the edge of it, one with enough meaning that she bites back her questions and nods in response.

"I'll take your training today, Arisawa-kun," the cat says. She shakes herself and is a woman, self-possessed and calm, but even she has a flicker of excitement around her eyes, and an extra tension in her pace. "We can't have you getting behind."

\---

Asano Keigo keeps his head down these days, and wishes that other people had done the same. Everyone can feel the gaps in the classroom. Nobody says anything about it. Inoue's gone, Ishida's gone, Yasutora's gone, other people are gone, and Kurosaki -- damn it, Kurosaki isn't who he used to be. He's bright and cheerful most the time, and guarded when he thinks nobody's watching him. It's like he's been replaced with a plant person from the movie. There's none of the old temper, or the old flashes of ultra-cool, or even the old intelligence. He gets marks in the middle of the class and seems happy with that.

Keigo had always liked Kurosaki Ichigo, even if he was a bit weird. He isn't sure that he likes this new desperately smiling version any more.

The whole Kurosaki family seem to have withdrawn in on themselves. Kurosaki Isshin spends all his time at work or at home. The daughters never go out on their own any longer; either their father or their brother's always with them. It's like they're under siege.

If pushed (say, to the edge of a roof and held dangling there) Keigo would have to admit that yes, it is a siege, and yes, he's seen the creatures that prowl the area, and yes, he knows what's going on (as far as anyone can know) and no, he wants nothing to do with it. He and Arisawa and Mizuiro sneaked down and saw Kurosaki and Ishida and Yasutora go _through_ that gateway.

 _You'd do better to go back home,_ the shopkeeper said, and hid his thin smile behind his fan. _Things will be sorted out soon enough._

Keigo has worked out what happened. There was a battle. They lost. There was that weird day a few months back, when something went wrong with the clocks and everyone lost a few hours and they talked about getting the government or something in to investigate (like the X-Files, sort of) but in the end nobody did anything. And after that Kurosaki had gone pod person, and Yasutora and Ishida and Inoue never came back, and there were only monsters out in the streets.

He's grateful that his two guests did something to his sister's memory before they left. It means she doesn't ask any awkward questions.

Keigo knows that Arisawa's up to something. Well, that's fine for her, isn't it? She's the karate champion and everything. She probably doesn't have dreams of those things crawling in through the window and eating her alive. She doesn't have to be so afraid. She still thinks Inoue's alive. She doesn't have those moments when everything seems so absolutely pointless and when the future stretches out in shades of grey, when there's going to be nothing but failed examinations and an empty house and useless jobs and a wasted life and he might as well walk off the edge of the building because there's no point to any of it and --

Things were better six months ago. Really they were.

If there was a war, then Keigo is sure that they lost it.

 _Perhaps if I'd mattered, then it might be different_ , he thinks, and watches the slow looming clouds outside the window as the teacher drones on and on and on.

\---

Mizuiro prowls the city. Not like a tiger or a lion: the thought makes him smile, that winsome little smile which always pleases women. Something smaller, but still something that has a nose for lies.

He doesn't blame Keigo, and most of all he doesn't blame Tatsuki. It's human nature to want an explanation, and to cling to any sort of an answer, however ridiculous it is.

Mizuiro is a philosophical atheist. He will not accept anything unless he's proven that it's true. He has seen things, but that proves nothing. He has been told things, but that proves nothing.

He has decided to accept, after months of watching, that there are hungry _things_ which roam the city. That's definite.

He hasn't decided yet whether Tatsuki is on the right side, or whether she has made a terrible mistake.

. . . after all, Kurosaki Ichigo chose to trust those people, didn't he? And his friends did as well. And look what happened to them.

The best thing to do is to watch, then decide, and then act.

One of his female friends taught him how to use a gun, years ago. He hasn't forgotten.

\---

Ishida Ryuuken looks out from his office window, and can see the whorls of reiatsu and spirit threads like dirty fingerprints all over town. He can feel them as well, feel the rising level of spiritual pressure and depression that the whole of Karakura must live with.

The results come into his hospital. Murders. Assaults. Accidents caused by carelessness caused by the sheer weight of taint throughout the town. And the attempted suicides. Oh yes, suicides. The constant pressure has its effect on everyone who can feel it, even if they don't know why or how life has gradually become unendurable and death seems so convenient an option.

These days he lives in a constant state of cold, controlled rage: rage at the creatures who took his son from him, rage at his son for being fool enough to go, and rage at the shinigami who have done nothing but compound the situation with every breath. So they wiped out the Quincy for failing to live up to their standards: where were they when they were _needed_?

He would like to believe that his son is still alive, but every ounce of logic in him argues against it. If he had been firmer, if he had kept the boy under restraints till the Kurosaki brat was safely away and he could talk some sense into him, if he had taught the boy better when he was younger . . .

Ishida Ryuuken no longer takes phone calls from the Kurosaki Clinic. He has nothing to say to that person, or to anyone connected with him.

What would have happened, he wonders idly, if that famous massacre centuries ago had gone the other way? If the Quincy had managed to put down the shinigami, and then dealt with all the Hollows, and swept the world clear so that the living could just live in peace . . .

He is aware that his fingers are tightening on the windowsill. He neatly uncurls them. A doctor must be careful of his hands.

In the end, this is what it comes down to: the last of the Quincy, alone in a wolf-winter under a grey sky, waiting for the end of the world and for the ghosts of the dead to consume the living. It should be a crime for a son to die before his father. He knows that his own father would have agreed.

He will care for the living as long as he can. He has no interest in the dead. Whatever they call themselves, Hollow or shinigami, they are all monsters and deceivers and murderers. Better that there should be nothing after death, and nobody should ever wake the departed from their sleep.

Best of all, perhaps, a mercy killing.


	14. Iba: Hurry Up and Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a defection to deal with, plans cast in doubt, a few tough questions asked, and a dose of rough justice handed out. Meanwhile, the packing still needs to be done. -- by sophia_prester

**Iba: Hurry Up and Wait**

  


"What do you mean, you don't know where he is?"

The silence that followed Ikkaku's demand lasted only a few seconds. Then, everything exploded into a frenzy that was just this side of pure chaos.

Hinamori quickly and matter-of-factly swept up all the papers from the table and carried them over to the fire. Ukitake-taichou, Ise, and Shiba began running through options and trying to decide which of their plans might be salvageable.

Sasakibe shouted over whatever Ikkaku said next and ordered Yoshino to come get the prisoner and secure him, _now_. Yoshino was on it before Sasakibe even finished speaking, and Grimmjow's exit was more of a running scuffle than any kind of orderly departure.

That left poor Shirogane on her own to explain how Rikichi said he was going to do a perimeter patrol--just like they always did a few times an hour at random when they were encamped--and she had just been telling Yoshino she thought Rikichi should have been back by now when Ikkaku came outside.

At least, that's what it sounded like. It was hard to tell, given how she could barely draw breath to speak before getting cut off by Ikkaku and then by Soi Fong.

All this took less than thirty seconds.

Iba shook his head in disgust, and, once he was finished running through his mental checklist, got working on the orders he'd been given just prior to everything going to hell.

Everyone needed to be prepared for battle or evacuation, was what he'd been told, and now it looked like it was going to be evacuation. Again.

With a bum leg, there wasn't much he could actually do by way of toting and hauling to get an entire campful of people ready to be miles away and untrackable by nightfall.

That didn't mean he was useless. Far from it. If he had done his job properly over the past few weeks, he'd have everyone ready to go before the top of the hour.

Only the knowledge of how much could go wrong, and how badly, kept him from feeling smug about this.

He hobbled to the hallway and bellowed out an order. A few seconds later, three of his people came running pell-mell. They were kids, really, one of them still in his Academy uniform. Kids, but they were fast on their feet and would remember--and do--what they were told after being told only once.

"First up, this ain't a drill. We got to get everyone ready to evacuate and fast. No idea what kind of time frame we're looking at for real, but assume the worst--everyone ready to move out in twenty minutes with pursuers hot on our tail." They might have more breathing room than that, but if he told them that, there was a chance they'd act like they did have it.

If Rikichi had turned on them, then their location could be taken as known. Trying to make it look like they'd never been there would only be a waste of time. A waste they couldn't afford if Ichimaru got Aizen to send some Hollows after them. "No cleanup detail. Anything that's not essential gets abandoned in place, as is. No exceptions."

The way things were, it would take him too damned long to stump around and see for himself if everything was being done the way it was supposed to. So, he had to rely on others to be his legs and eyes and voice, and hope like hell they didn't fuck it up.

"Suzuki, get the word out and tell the squad leaders to make sure we got everyone accounted for. Then circle back and find out if we got anyone missing and who they are and when anyone last saw 'em."

They were distracted when Yoshino came back in, Hoshibana and Ogidou close on his heels. Hoshibana looked like he wanted to murder someone. Ogidou was, as always, smiling pretty. Freak.

"What about them?" The recon squad hadn't figured into any of their drills, and Suzuki sounded close to panic at this disruption to their carefully rehearsed routine.

"Not your problem," Iba told her curtly. The recon squad could take care of itself, and would do so faster without any 'help.' "Make sure everyone else is where they need to be and ready to move out when I give the word."

Next up was Taguchi, who was responsible for getting the wounded and their small group of healers ready, and their few, precious medical supplies packed for transport. Kuroda's job was to make sure two days' worth of rations were ready for all the able-bodied to grab on their way out.

The three of them wouldn't be doing most of the work themselves. It was much too much for just three kids, but those kids could get instructions to the people who could be counted on to get it done.

At least, Iba hoped they would get it done. He'd run regular drills on emergency evacuations after he got laid up, and each time, something major got fucked up. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it was a different kind of fuckup each time.

Unfortunately, there was nothing else to do now but hurry up and wait. Everyone would be accounted for and ready to go in twenty minutes, or they wouldn't. Either this would end up being just another drill, or it wouldn't.

Meanwhile, he had better make sure _he_ knew what was going on. One thing Komamura-taichou had ruthlessly pounded into his head over the years was that not knowing something was no excuse for screwing up. Neither was 'wasn't my job.'

Which reminded him--he'd better make sure somebody knew what the hell they were going to do with that Arrancar when they had to move out.

For no more than a second, he thought about going to check on the blue-haired bastard himself. Then he shrugged the thought aside, deciding that Grimmjow had nothing to say that he wanted to hear.

He felt inside his top for the pack of cigarettes that should have been there. Nothing. He fished around some more until he remembered that he'd smoked the last salvaged cigarette--an ashy and unsatisfying mess made up from butt-ends he'd carefully hoarded--yesterday afternoon. These days, cigs were even harder to come by than booze.

Soi Fong and Ikkaku were still working over Shirogane, who now looked like she very much wanted to find an elsewhere to be. Iba did his best to keep from fidgeting, but then the craving for a smoke got driven clear out of his mind when it came out that Shirogane, Yoshino, and Rikichi had been able to overhear bits and pieces of what was said in the meeting. Not everything, but enough to be a real problem if it turned out that Rikichi was going to start telling tales--voluntarily or otherwise--to Ichimaru and his goons.

"Let's see..." Ikkaku squinted, peering off through the trees as if he thought Rikichi might be lurking in a thicket. "If Four-Eyes here is right, Rikichi's been gone maybe ten minutes. Terrain like this, he could be three, maybe four miles away if he's using shunpo."

"How skilled is he?" Soi Fong asked.

Iba was about to say 'not very,' but Ikkaku beat him to it.

"Lot better'n he was a few months back. Nowhere near as good as these two, though," he said, jerking his head towards Hinamori and Hoshibana. "And what the hell are you two doing wasting time? Get after him while there's still time to catch up!"

Soi Fong contradicted the order with a sharp wave of her hand, and Sasakibe was right there with new ones before she or Ikkaku could say anything.

"No. Hinamori and all the other vice-captains are to stay here. Hoshibana-san, I want you and Shirogane-san to go after the boy directly. If you cannot track him down before nightfall, send back word--we'll have to assume the worst. Madarame-san, who are your best trackers? Not including yourself, of course."

"Newb--Takano and Maki--Aramaki," he said quickly. Hoshibana and Shirogane had already flash-stepped away to go after their old division-mate. "You want they should see if Rikichi's laid a false trail and doubled back or something?"

"I'll tell them," Hinamori said before Sasakibe could confirm Ikkaku's guess. She did not look happy. At all. She disappeared in a flash-step before anyone could say anything else.

There had been times, back before he got injured, when Iba and Ikkaku would talk through the strengths and weaknesses of their hodge-podge and nameless little squad. When the talk came around to Rikichi, 'smarts' and 'sneakiness' never managed to come up. Enthusiasm, very much yes, and willingness to jump into any kind of insane situation with no hope of success, but the kid wasn't in any danger of being mistaken for the brain trust of the group.

Ikkaku sighed, shoulders lifting and slumping extravagantly, and the mad seemed to fall right off of him. Instead, he just looked tired. Tired and twenty years older. "You know, we're all going to feel really stupid when it turns out Rikichi had to take a shit and fell into the latrine."

"Better to feel stupid than be dead," Soi Fong pointed out. The weight of all the insulting things she could have said after that was oppressive enough that Ikkaku took insult anyway. The mad slid right back, and he left before he could be dismissed, snarling at Yoshino to come with him and make sure that miserable excuse for an ex-Hollow was ready to be dragged out of there--by his hair if need be.

And with that particular item off his to-worry-about list, Iba decided it was high time he go make sure Kotetsu had what she needed and was ready to get Ukitake-taichou safely out of here.

If worse came to worst, that was.

Every step, every twinge in his knee, was a bitter reminder of just what could happen if they didn't plan for the worst. If they assumed that just because someone seemed to be a friend, they couldn't turn traitor.

Yeah, Iba had learned that lesson all too well, too many times.

Still, there was part of him that really hoped this would all turn out to be a mistake and Rikichi would be dragged back here in a few minutes to be razzed and possibly forced to go scrub off before re-joining so-called polite company.

After all, it was _Rikichi_.

The thought stirred up echoes he chose ignore.

Hinamori returned without fanfare, a quick nod telling everyone concerned that she'd sent her other two squad-mates to see if Rikichi had laid a false trail. Her expression was still dark as thunderclouds, and Iba grimaced when she shot him a quick, sharp _I need to talk to you_ look.

Iba held up a finger, quietly telling her she'd just have to wait a damned moment. For one thing, he didn't particularly _want_ to talk to her just then. For another, he still hadn't talked to Kotetsu, who was getting an earful from Kigai Kaede about what old Fourth Division supply depots were within quick striking distance and might be worth the risk of raiding for food after they moved out. Iba had worked with Kaede a few times when he was still on the reconnaissance squad, and knew she had a habit of using twenty words when three would do.

"Oi! Kotetsu!"

Kotetsu broke away from listening to Kaede's report while Kaede was still yammering away--not that Kaede minded or even noticed, from the look of things. "Yes? What is it, Iba-fukutaichou?"

He hated how she always sounded like she was waiting to be yelled at for something. Didn't used to be like that.

"Just wanted to make sure you had what you needed to get Ukitake-taichou out of here."

"Yes." The response was quiet, almost shamed, and he felt like a shit for asking. Of course she would be ready and more than ready, but he had to ask. Assumptions got people killed.

Speaking of things that could get people killed, Ise was glaring at him _over_ the rims of her glasses. It took Iba a second to realize what he'd done, and he mumbled a quick apology to Ukitake-taichou. It was all too easy to talk about him as if he wasn't there, or worse, as if he was still slipping in and out of a coma while they were waiting for him to die.

He'd be catching hell from Ise for that later, so even though Hinamori was growing visibly more cranky by the second, he hobbled over to her as if she were a safe haven.

"Do you really think Rikichi turned on us?" she asked him without any lead-in. The question wasn't plaintive, the way he would have expected from the Hinamori of a year ago. The question was designed to put him on the defensive, and it did its job just fine.

"I'm not about to blindly trust someone who up and ran off after hearing damn near everything we've been planning. That's a brand of stupid we can't afford."

Hinamori pursed her lips, and her eyes cut down and to the side as if running through something in her mind. She sighed, and when she spoke, it only sounded half-directed at him. "As long as we find him before he runs into any of Ichimaru's people, I suppose it doesn't matter."

Doesn't matter? Did he hear that right? It didn't matter that someone she'd been working side-by-side with for the past few months might have gone to the bad?

"If we have to throw away this chance because of him..." The look in her eyes made Iba very glad she didn't finish that sentence. His confusion cleared as he realized that it wasn't the idea of betrayal or having to run again that had her bothered.

"Hoshi and Shirogane'll capture him. Find him. Whatever." It was a reasonable hope. Regardless of why Rikichi had disappeared, if they could find him before anything happened, they could still proceed as planned. Well, maybe even _more_ carefully than planned.

Iba paused for a moment as the implications of _in a few days, this could all be over_ crashed over him like a wave, and if he had let himself, he could have been lost. Then, again like a wave, it receded, leaving him with an only slightly less pissed off than before Hinamori.

"So." That was all she said for a moment, but Iba knew there was going to be more. He was tempted to tell her that they didn't have time to talk, but she knew as well as he did that all they had to do at the moment was wait. He could always just turn and walk away, but she could outrun him, no problem.

Hell, these days, his _mom_ could outrun him without getting out of breath.

"What do you think of our assignment?"

It was an innocent-seeming question that had large, splintered spikes at the bottom of it. Neither of them was happy about their orders, and they both knew it. It had been hard to hide their reactions, the way that particular news had been dropped on them without warning.

"Can't say _I'm_ surprised." He slapped the side of his crutch, in case she missed his meaning, but that only answered part of her question. He thought about smoothing things over with a harmless little fib, but she knew as well as he did these assignments were in no way random.

"As for you," he said slowly, not sure what to brace himself for, "I guess they didn't want you to have to go toe-to-toe with your old captain."

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. It wasn't quite a smile, but he could tell that what he'd said was no surprise. In fact, she seemed pleased. "And they won't send me to Seireitei because too many people there would still remember what happened to me after... Well, _after._ "

Not just Seireitei, either. Hinamori hadn't exactly gone with the reconnaissance squad as a volunteer. Maybe she knew that, or maybe she didn't, but now that she was being trusted to guard Ukitake-taichou, it didn't matter that some of them had argued to keep her the hell away from him until they knew exactly where her loyalties lay.

Yeah, she seemed like she was on the right side. And like she'd gotten her head screwed on straight again. It was great, it was good, but they were not about to let her screw them over the way Hisagi did.

With that thought came an automatic tensing, tightness in his neck, a pounding at his temples, but he stopped. He took a breath. He let it go. There was no changing things now. Only waiting to see what kind of truth came back from Hueco Mundo.

Iba wasn't sure what he'd say to his old pal, wasn't sure what he'd believe, or what he'd do, and with that, Iba realized something with a suddenness that made him cough: maybe it wasn't just a busted leg keeping him off the Hueco Mundo team.

"I do have one question, though. And thank you for being honest with me before." Her voice was sweet, she was smiling again, and looking more like the Hinamori he remembered.

"No problem. Have at it." He'd been about to tell her that he really should go see how Suzuki was doing, but what was the harm? He could spare another minute or two.

"When was I going to be told that Kira had been found? And that he was with Ichimaru?" Her expression didn't shift, but her smile went from sweet to sharp all the same.

 _Shit_. Iba ran through explanation after explanation in his mind, knowing he was in a full flop sweat and that anything he said was going to sound as fake as Aizen's kindness.

"The way Ukitake-taichou spoke, it sounded to me like this was something _everyone_ knew." There was a slight--very slight--tremor in her voice, but he didn't know what was driving it.

"Everyone _did_ know!" His protest was loud enough to gain Ise's attention and a raised eyebrow. He gave her a strained smile and shook his head. He could handle this. "There were rumors for weeks, right? That Kira had been spotted? You must've heard the rumors."

"Rumors, yes. But what I heard just now was mentioned as _fact._ " The tremor was still there and it shivered like flame. The fact that her voice was still cheerful just made it worse.

Maybe he shouldn't have waved Ise off after all. He wasn't used to dealing with a Hinamori who didn't mince words, whose temper crackled and flared. He was used to cheer, and warmth, and a sweet little kid who trailed after Aizen like a duckling.

Of course, given who she was trailing after now... Ikkaku stalked past, zanpakuto hiked over his shoulder and a scowl cut into his face. It deepened when he saw Soi Fong talking to Ukitake-taichou, but he was distracted easily enough when Iba shot him a _please help me_ smile.

Ikkaku took quick stock of the situation he was being asked to jump into, measuring up both Iba and Hinamori in a second. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened. "Okay. What's going on here? Ain't you two got things to be doing? What with this being a fucking emergency situation and all?"

"Oh, we were just talking about Kira," Hinamori said with the kind of gentleness that made Ikkaku take a step back and Iba _wish_ he could.

"Che... You sounded like Unohana-taichou for a sec, there." Ikkaku sounded more approving than not. Then he snapped his fingers and turned to Iba. "Speaking of Kira--Tetsu, what the hell's going on with that? Did I hear Ukitake-taichou right? It ain't just rumor any more? The guy's with for real with Ichimaru? _Willingly_?"

Iba nodded and concentrated on not looking at Hinamori. She had turned a wonderful shade of red and now appeared to be fascinated by something on the floor. "Guess it's hard for you all to get the current news when you're on the move the way you are, but yeah. We just got solid confirmation Kira's back in Seireitei. Best anyone can tell, he's been there for five weeks, give or take. Doesn't go out in public much, from what we've heard."

"Which ain't much, I take it? So, that's why you flagged me down, huh?" Ikkaku flicked Hoozukimaru so that the end of the hilt clipped Hinamori on the shoulder. "This the first you heard of it, Peaches?"

Momo, still red-faced, nodded sharply.

"Smooth move, Tetsu. Real fucking smooth." Ikkaku headed off, slapping Iba on the back just a little too hard to be considered friendly. "Peaches, if the evac winds up being a wash-out, you and me need to get in another sparring session before the party starts. Meanwhile, you two might want to stop looking like you're standing around doing jack-shit."

"Okay." While she her answer was directed to Ikkaku, she looked up tentatively at Iba, halfway between embarrassed and trying not to laugh her ass off out of sheer nervous relief.

"Hey, at least it wasn't just you," he said, and was rewarded by the sight of her clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle mortified laughter. "So." He cleared his throat. "No harm, no foul?"

She gave him a thumbs-up, but didn't look at him or even try to speak to him until she was no longer about to lose it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." The first time she said it, she was half-laughing. The second time, no trace of laughter at all. "But... it's _Kira_. What was I supposed to think?"

"Maybe he's just a prisoner? Maybe it ain't what it looks like?"

That wasn't what she meant, but he didn't know what to say to what she _did_ mean. Hinamori had gone off her nut when she heard exactly what Aizen had done and said after leaving her to bleed out on the floor of Center 46. It was easy to think that people would assume she'd do the exact same thing if she heard her old friend and classmate was now cozying up to Ichimaru.

Unfortunately, he couldn't say anything, because when the word came in about Kira, he _had_ wondered how Hinamori would take it. Everyone knew she and Kira were pals from way back, and more than few had wondered if maybe they were more than that at some point. Their spectacular and so-very-public falling out after discovering Aizen's 'body' had devastated Kira and made things just that much worse for Hinamori.

"If he's a prisoner, then Ichimaru probably won't take him along when we draw him out." She sounded rueful but deeply relieved, and more at peace than she had when she first approached him with war in her eyes.

"Probably not." The door to the hallway slid open. Iba looked up, but it was just Taguchi. Some problem with moving a couple of the wounded, from the sound of things, but Taguchi had the brains to go right to Kotetsu rather than wasting time coming to him. Kotetsu in turn told Ogidou to go with Taguchi to see what could be done.

"Glad he's here to help," Iba said, "but I have to say--the idea of that guy working on me..."

"I won't let him touch me," Hinamori said curtly. "Not after what I've seen him do." Her hand went up to the burn on the back of her neck, her fingers tracing but not touching the line between scar and still-raw skin.

Iba had wondered why her wound wasn't as healed as it should be. His own leg had been jacked up almost beyond repair, but Kotetsu had done a good job patching things up--until having to use it when they were forced on the run without warning jacked it up even more.

"I wonder how much Kotetsu knows about what he's been up to of late. All his little 'innovations.'" As for him, he was wondering what _Hinamori_ had been up to. Someone--he couldn't remember who--said she got torched while training. They'd made it sound like a kidou backfire, but Iba had also seen the kind of fireballs Hinamori's shikai let loose.

It was hard not to think of the rumors that had gone around while he was at the Academy. Whispers about shinigami who had tried too hard or too early to force their way to bankai, and one morning someone would go looking for them only to find bloody chunks strewn all over the training ground.

After he graduated, the rumors changed a bit. Instead of bloody chunks, the whispers talked about rooms deep in the Fourth Division where they kept people who had to be fed by hand and have the shit wiped off them like they were babies.

Perhaps he should talk to Ikkaku. Of course, there was always the possibility that Ikkaku knew all about it. If he did, chances were he wouldn't do a damned thing to stop it. Just the opposite, probably.

"Still, he is good at what he does," Hinamori said, because she was the sort who would always try to find a kind word about someone. She pulled down the back of her collar a bit to worry at a half-healed patch of skin, and Iba saw a glint of gold.

Iba didn't so much agree as acknowledge what she'd said with a grunt. Suzuki had just come back in, and she looked like the slightest touch would send her flying off into bits.

"That's my cue. Look--about Kira. I'd've told you myself if I thought of it, but I didn't think of it, and I feel like crap that I didn't. I mean it."

"I know you do."

He started to hobble off, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him.

"I was able to grab a few things to bring back when I left Urahara's shop. He knows I took them, so it's okay." She reached into the front of her gi. She pulled it open a bit as she did.

"The hell?"

Hinamori blushed, and looked down to make sure she hadn't revealed more than she intended. Well, she had, but not in the way she probably thought. The gold slipknot necklace with its heavy end-rings was familiar. It was also something that should not have been in this place, or around that neck.

Hinamori pulled her gi closed again. "Rangiku-san was my friend," she said with the sort of care that suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's just--"

In all the day to day, in all the needing to stay prepared, they didn't have the luxury of wallowing in memory of what was.

So, when it snuck up on you, all unexpected, it could just about knock you on your ass.

"--kinda hard to believe she's gone, sometimes."

It took no effort to call up the sight of her walking across the room, hips swaying, her chest lifting and her fingers clutching at the air as she stretched and yawned. He could see what the dying light looked like on her hair, how it turned it more red than gold.

He kept his gaze on the center of the room for a moment, watching a woman who wasn't there. A woman who still seemed all too alive even after she died of her wounds during the retreat from the fake Karakura town.

"Iba-san?"

"Sorry. Just thinking." He didn't need to say about what, but then something else struck him. If the memory had hit _him_ that hard... "Can you imagine how nutso-crazy Ichimaru would go if he found out she was dead? Damn, I hope that cracked-out plan works--if we get to use it. I kinda hate to say it, but that necklace would help sell our decoy as the real deal."

"Right." For a moment, Hinamori seemed lost in her own memories, but something in them hardened her face. She clutched the necklace so hard it was a wonder she didn't warp the links. "I'd need it back, though..."

In contrast to her face, her voice seemed almost dreamy. Then, she shook her head as if clearing out the cobwebs, and her face lit up with a genuine Hinamori-smile, just like the ones he remembered from better days. "Thank you for talking to me--I'm feeling much happier about our assignment. Oh, and I almost forgot..."

She reached back into her gi. There was a deliciously familiar crinkle of cellophane, and she called out "Catch!" as she sent a small gold-and-white packet arcing towards him.

He didn't dare let himself believe it until the pack of Mild Sevens smacked into his palm like they belonged there.

"Just don't smoke them around Ukitake-taichou. I brought chocolate back for Nanao-san and Isa--eep!"

He'd reached out and grabbed her arm, and she squeaked again and flailed when he gave her a peck on the cheek.

She scurried off, blushing, and Iba turned his attention to Suzuki. Suzuki's jaw had dropped, but she collected herself easily enough.

"Everyone's accounted for, and has reported to their assigned groups." Her fingers clenched and unclenched in the cloth of her hakama, and she spoke as if by rote. "The group leaders will take a count every two minutes until we get the signal to move out."

"Good. Now stay here until we hear back. Shouldn't be much longer, so be ready to _run_ when I give word."

Iba looked out the door. A single guard stood there, looking out into the dark of the surrounding forest. It wasn't quite nightfall, but the sky had gone violet-gray, and Ise had finally given in and lit a lamp.

Either way, stay or go, they would know something soon.

* * *

"There." Hoshibana pointed at an open patch among the trees. Dull brown leaves covered the forest floor, just as they did all around them, but in that one spot, small, dark patches of wet stood out in a faint but distinctive parabolic pattern. Someone had broken out of shunpo at this spot, disturbing the leaves and raising evidence of last week's rain. Shirogane might have missed it, but once Hoshibana pointed it out, it was unmistakable.

Elsewhere, she could see pale flecks of green, recently snapped wood showing up stark in the twilight, marking someone's less than careful passage through the underbrush. There'd been an attempt to mask tracks, but only with the end result of making other, more obvious marks. "He's running, now? And still heading due south?" she said.

A grunt and a nod from Hoshibana, and they were off again. Hoshibana flash-stepped ahead, zig-zagging in and out of sight across a wide arc, looking for any sign of their quarry. Shirogane, who was better at close-up than long-range sighting, ran along Rikichi's trail, keeping an eye out for any changes of direction, anything that might have been dropped, or worst of all, any sign that might have been deliberately left for someone else.

Shirogane Mihane wondered if Sasakibe-fukutaichou had had their old division in mind when he sent her and Hoshibana after Rikichi. Rikichi had learned his woodcraft from Iwamura-goseki, just as she had, and Hoshibana-sanseki had learned from the same master as Iwamura. They, of anyone, had the best chance of finding and catching Rikichi.

The only problem was time. There wasn't enough. In short bursts that were barely sentences, she and Hoshibana had parsed out their orders. At nightfall, they were to send back word if Rikichi had not been found. Nothing was said about stopping their search. So, Hoshibana declared, they would _not_ stop.

There was no need for him to say anything about the honor of their division, and the need for the two of them to preserve it--or to restore it, if need be. She could hear the speech as he would have given it, could hear the familiar, drawling voice. And he no doubt knew she would.

Out loud, he merely indulged in a short burst of profanity. A year ago, she never would have believed it of him--or of herself, for that matter.

It was not nightfall, not yet, even though she had to call upon a simple, utilitarian kidou to get enough light to see if a branch was freshly broken or not. Also, she could only see Hoshibana flash in and out of sight because the flickers of movement caught her eye. His indigo haori and graying ponytail made him just another shadow in the twilight.

The sun had finally set, and they had maybe fifteen minutes left before they would have to let go of any pretense that it was not yet full night. Mihane mentally prepared the kidou that would send a one-word message to let the others know they had failed-- _run_.

When Hoshibana stopped suddenly, and turned, Shirogane almost sent the message. But instead of the sober shake of the head and the _it's time_ she expected, she saw a sharp grin and a the flash of a pale hand as he signaled her to follow.

Two flash steps took them to the edge of the wood and to a wide road.

"There." Hoshibana reached out as if grabbing a string, and Shirogane closed her eyes. Even though Rikichi was masking his reiatsu, he couldn't do so completely. He was close. She could just see the faint red thread. Without waiting for orders, she took off, flash-stepping over and over again as fast as she could and ignoring the growing burn in her lungs and her legs. She was much younger than Hoshibana, and on open ground, much faster.

Five steps, then ten, and she could _hear_ Rikichi. Three more took her past him. She dropped out of shunpo right in front of him, and he skidded to a halt, windmilling his arms to stop himself from falling as he launched himself in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately for him, Hoshibana wasn't as nice as she was. He didn't block Rikichi so much as body-check him straight out of a flash-step. The impact knocked Rikichi off his feet so hard that his heels were up above his head. Shirogane stepped back neatly, and Rikichi landed on the small of his back and skidded to a stop right where she had been standing a second before. From the way he hissed and arched his back, he'd earned himself one hell of a case of road burn.

Hoshibana walked over to them slowly, the purposeful weight of each footfall timed to let Rikichi know exactly how much trouble he was in.

"Hoshibana-san? Shirogane-san? What are you--"

Hoshibana thumbed the guard of his zanpakutou free of the scabbard with a deliberately audible _snick_. Rikichi got very quiet very quickly.

"What the hell were you thinking, Rikichi?" Shirogane knew she sounded shrill, but she didn't care, even when Hoshibana held up a hand to shush her. "How could you do this to us?"

Rikichi looked more confused than scared, but that changed when Hoshibana crouched down right next to his head.

"Think before you answer her, Rikichi," he said softly. "You know what I chose to do to my own men when I, ah... had cause. Take care that you do not inadvertently... give me cause."

Shirogane slapped her palm to her mouth just too late to stifle a very loud curse. They'd never spoken of what they had to do to escape Seireitei. For Hoshibana of all people to resurrect that as a casual threat...

...meant that maybe the threat wasn't casual. Again, she wondered if Sasakibe-fukutaichou meant anything by keeping the retrieval mission within the Sixth Division.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Rikichi protested, looking frantically from one to the other and growing more panicked as he watched their growing confusion. "What did you have to go and do this for? You've ruined everything!"

Shirogane could practically hear Hoshibana's raised eyebrow.

"Don't you get it? You get it, don't you, Shirogane-san? You were there. You heard it. You and me and Yoshino. We all heard it, right?"

Hoshibana looked at him through hooded eyes for a moment, then turned his attention to Shirogane.

"Yes, that clears _everything_ up," he drawled. "Now I suppose it's too much for one to ask what 'it' might be, hm?"


	15. Isane -- Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isane is challenged by both Shiba-sama and Shirogane to find her strength in the midst of the ruins that will be Ukitake's new base. -- by liralenli

**Isane: Present**

  


Kotetsu Isane hurried through the underground chambers of Shiba Kuukaku's latest work of explosive art. The low ceilings of the tunnels always made her feel like she was going to dash her brains out on an overhead beam if she didn't trip over one of the charges underfoot. Slender Shiba-sama slipped through the tunnels ahead of her with ease, and Isane cursed the fate that had made her so unseemly tall.

They reached the ladder in its pool of light, and Isane balked. "I thought I was supposed to help make sure Ukitake-taichou's chair could work down here?"

"It's going to take a few hours before we're ready for that. I've got something else for you to do from Ukitake-taichou. Need to wake up that perimeter guard, and give you some teeth," Shiba-sama said with a grin that didn't ease Isane's discomfort.

She followed her up the ladder, trying not to look like she wanted to catch the woman every time she raised her single hand for another rung. The slap of each firm grasp rang loud to her ears.

When they reached the ground level, Isane couldn't help the gasp as she came up into a huge hardwood floored room.

Some noble family had gone out into the living world a mere century ago, and they had come back with the strange need to build a Castle in the style of the foreigners of that time. The intricate ceilings laced with gold and an illusion of sky, the tall white pillars, the individual paintings all along the walls depicting a hunting scene with forests with animals both familiar and strange peeking out from the lushness, were all as strange as the polished floor, the stained glass windows, and the hinged glass doors.

Shiba-sama caught her looking at the doors. "Those are going to do some amazing damage when they blow," Shiba-sama said with satisfaction. "I'm glad Ukitake-taichou allowed us to go ahead with wiring this monstrosity."

Isane nodded mutely, and followed as Shiba-sama led the way to the front. The carved doorway was winged by two swept staircases. Overhead hung a huge, glittering crystal chandelier, each facet casting rainbows about the walls.

The right front door opened with a groan, hinges protesting even as Shiba-sama hauled on it with her one hand. "We should oil those," she said shortly. "Don't want to make them feel like this is too unused."

"I could reach the top ones if you need," Isane said and then blushed.

Shiba-sama looked up at her and grinned her pirate's grin. "That you could. Do it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Shiba-sama strode across the now weed-pocked lawn toward the overgrown greenery that sprawled all about the old mansion. Two heads popped up, one mousey blond, the other dark.

"You!" Shiba-sama shouted. "Get in here!"

Both stood up. It turned out that the blond much shorter than the other. Both pointed at themselves with a look of question on their faces, and Shiba-sama snorted in disgust. She walked up to the blond, grabbed a dirty wrist, and started dragging them back to the house. The slender figure simply slumped, resigned.

Isane stared. Not a him but a her. She was shorter than herself, and Isane smothered her pang of envy.

"Shirogane Mihane, meet Kotetsu-fukutaichou, Kotetsu Isane, Shirogane Mihane. She's going to teach you iaijitsu."

Both women blinked at each other and then at Shiba-sama, and the fear and uncertainty in the air made Isane want to gag. All her protests boiled up and crowded Isane's throat: _but I don't want to draw a sword, I can't cut anything, I wasn't supposed to be training here, what can she teach me, how am I supposed to fight_. There were so many that none of them got out.

"Who? Her? Fukutaichou?" Shirogane peered up at Isane, pushed her glasses up and then looked again. Isane looked down at the ground and felt that churning in her gut. Grudgingly, the other woman conceded, "Well, she's tall, her reach should be good."

"I hate being tall," Isane mumbled.

"And I wish I were taller." Shirogane shrugged. "Well, it'll keep my mind off that other shit. So sure. But I can't teach her everything in just an afternoon."

Shiba-sama punched Isane's shoulder. "Don't tell me old Yamamoto didn't have all you kids learn some of the basics on drawing."

Isane winced and then shook her head. "No... uhm... yes? Uhm. We learned a few kata in Academy, but I haven't had a reason to study the forms for years."

Shiba-sama tsked as Shirogane nodded. "Few do," Shirogane said. "Though we call them waza, not kata... Let's go."

Isane uncertainly began to line up in opposition to Shirogane right there on the lawn, then stopped as Shiba-sama shook her head. "No. Not here. In the places you and Ukitake-taichou are likely to be attacked together." She held up three fingers and ticked them off. "Office. Eating area. Bedroom."

The speculative look from Shirogane left Isane bright red.

Shiba-sama rolled her eyes. "She's his nurse, Four-eyes."

"Ah..."

The relief in the other woman's reiatsu made Isane blush even hotter. She ducked her head and hunched her shoulders, and followed the other two back into the grand house. They had to go up the sweeping staircase to the enormous library. The dark wood shelves sat half-empty of books, many of which were scattered and thrown down in heaps that the mice and spiders had made nests in, and dust coated everything. A massive desk no thief had managed to make off with still squatted by the curtained window.

Shiba-sama threw back the heavy drapes, now holed by moths and ragged at the ends, and let the light shine on the dark wood desk. Isane trailed her hand through the dust, revealing a gleaming glossy surface that she could see herself in. "Ukitake-taichou is going to hate losing this."

"With any luck it's going to be good armor for him, if they come when he's here." Shiba-sama said, matter-of-factly. "It's good and solid."

"It's beautiful," Isane said forlornly, and felt very out of place as both women just looked at her.

Shiba-sama turned away and headed for the door.

Shirogane just stood there for an awkward moment, and Isane realized that the other woman was as uncomfortable as she was. Then the slender blonde pushed up her glasses and walked over to Isane. "Do you know which forms you learned?"

Isane shook her head. "Uhm... two were standing forms and one was from seiza, and they were pretty simple, just the straight horizontal cut, a vertical cut, and then the cleaning and sheathing. My instructors didn't think too much of the need to cut on drawing, in most battles there's time to draw and assess."

"No chairs here..." Shirogane sounded a little distant. "You'd be behind your own desk here?"

Isane looked around the tattered library. There was a smaller, short secretary's desk that to Isane's relief looked as if she could kneel behind it properly, shoved against one of the corners nearer the door. "Can you help me move that to a more defensible position?"

"Certainly."

Isane picked her way through the debris. Silverfish scuttled away from books that fell apart at her feet and she coughed in the dust. "We're going to have to get a lot of this dust up before Ukitake-taichou comes, or he won't be able to breathe, much less study in here."

They exchanged a glance as they got to either end of the small desk, and together they lifted. The small desk was heavier than it looked, and they both gasped as their uncertain footing slid underneath them with the additional weight.

"Uh... oh... Woah.... Hey!" They both collapsed in a cloud of dust and pages flying everywhere.

They both sneezed explosively several times, and then helplessly started to giggle. Shirogane took her glasses off and tried to wipe them off on one sleeve, and giggled even more as the effort only smeared things around even worse.

"There's..." Isane stopped for another sneeze which made them both giggle again. She floundered to her feet, and put her arms out for balance. "Must clear some of this... " Sneeze. "... before we do this..." Sneeze. "Water in kitchen..."

Shirogane giggled and nodded, the smile on her face suddenly making her look much younger as Isane suddenly noticed freckles and mild brown eyes. For just that moment, she looked so much like Kiyone that Isane's heart ached even as she wanted to wrap the other up in a far too familiar hug. Isane finally smiled a smile that wasn't timid at all, as the two of them picked their way back out of the room.

"Do you think there are shovels somewhere? Or brooms, so we could just shove all that crap off that balcony or something?" Shirogane asked. "I can't stay for too long, but we might have the time to at least clear a portion of the place out so it's usable for practice and we don't trip over our own damned feet."

"Off the balcony?" Isane asked, shocked for a moment by the idea and Shirogane's language. She remembered the other girl had been on a much rougher assignment than she. Also, the books were already ruined and Ise-kun wasn't going to be seeing any of this. Ukitake-taichou on the other hand... well, he wouldn't mourn what he couldn't see... maybe... It would be a lot easier to practice in a cleared area, and she'd have her work cut out for her clearing that dust on her own. She nodded. "That's a good idea, I think."

Shirogane grinned. "Good."

There was water in the kitchen. Shirogane cleaned her glasses, and they found two huge push brooms in the kitchen. They tied cloths over nose and mouth, and worked around each other pushing huge mounds of tattered pages and covers out through the broken balcony out the back of the office. The rotted, broken structure creaked and moaned with each load they pushed through the hole in the fencing. With someone that didn't stop to mourn every page, Isane found that she didn't have to, either, and they cleared the worst of it out in less than an hour. The effort warmed her body up, and she found herself wiping sweat from her brow when they stopped to survey the now cleared floor.

Without a word, they moved over to the smaller desk and each lifted one end. Isane followed Shirogane's lead as they placed the front right corner of it against the front left corner of the big desk and out to the side.

"It'll help delay them getting around the desks if they come in from the front."

"What if they come through the balcony?" asked Isane.

"That rotted thing? I don't think I'd want to stand on it. As much as it just protested over what we just pushed over it, I'm thinking it'll go sooner rather than later. Maybe ask Shiba-sama to add a surprise there?"

When they went down to the kitchen, Isane added that to the list of things that should be done to the house as they fetched one chair and a thick tatami mat. They took them upstairs, placed them, and hung back a bit to look at the results.

"Now I should just run around this place with a wet cloth to get the dust down..."

"I don't think I have the time for that," Shirogane said. "I think I should get your lessons in before I have to leave."

Isane was brought up short. She'd forgotten about the lessons in the flurry of cleaning. "Oh. Right."

"Right. Do you even know which school your instructor was from?"

Isane shook her head mutely.

"How about you show me your first standing waza?"

Isane bit her lower lip, but went to stand in the center of the room. She wasn't sure why Shirogane sounded so distant, so harsh all of a sudden. Her hand trembled when she wrapped her hand around Itegumo, and she felt the cool caress of her zanpakutou against her mind.

"I don't need to release, do I?" she asked nervously.

"No. It would flag our presence here like a bonfire, and we don't need that kind of attention, yet."

Finding herself desperate for any kind of distraction from what she was about to try, she asked, "Which Division were you in?"

"Huh?" Shirogane looked at her, opened-mouthed.

"Which Division? Who did you serve?"

A faint frown creased the blond's brow. "The Sixth, Kuchiki-taichou."

Isane felt that familiar pang she always felt when one of the missing Captains was mentioned, but she plowed on. "Did his Division have extra iaijutsu..."

"Iaido. Shiba-sama had that wrong, I didn't learn in an iaijutsu school, I'm a follower of the Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū’s iaido, and while Kuchiki-sama encouraged..." Shirogane's face grew wry. "As much as he encouraged anyone, he supported, paid for, and attended my testings in that particular discipline. It was not a Division-wide thing. It simply drew me."

"Why?' Isane asked.

Shirogane paused and tilted her head. "You're stalling, aren't you?"

Isane felt the heat of a blush go to her cheeks. She heard Itegumo laughing gently as well and her blush only grew hotter.

Shirogane chuckled and shook her head. "Why don’t you want to practice?"

"I'm Fourth Division," she said as if that should explain it, but she only saw Shirogane shrug. "I'm supposed to just heal."

Shirogane snorted. "You'll get yourself and your Captain killed if you stick to that."

The pain that statement caused was so intense Isane doubled up, choking back tears.

The punch to her shoulder was entirely unexpected. When Shirogane hit her again, she ducked behind her hands and cowered. The profanity that came in lieu of another blow sounded more tired than angry, and when Isane stopped panicking enough to peek from between her fingers she saw Shirogane cleaning her glasses and looking very, very tired.

"It always worked for Madarame... sorry... damnit, but I feel like I'm wasting our time. Do you want this lesson or not?"

Isane's voice shook when she said, "Not. I don't... I don't want it..." Shirogane turned away. "But..." She paused cocking her head back to listen to Isane's final rush of words. "But if it will help Ukitake-taichou survive another minute to do what's necessary..." Her voice dropped, out of her control. "... if that's what it takes I guess I will."

She saw Shirogane give a short, tight nod, and then turn back to her, offering her a hand up. She took it and got to her feet again, taking Itegumo's grip in her right hand and shifting her left went to her sheath. Trying to remember the sequence of the motions, she drew the blade at a diagonal and then moved it in front of her in a horizontal sweep.

"Woah. Stop. Oh, kami, what are you doing?" Shirogane had her head in her hands.

"Uhm... the form?"

"No no... gah. What did they tell you iai _means_?"

"Huh?" Startled, Isane put her blade back into her scabbard, feeling Itegumo's interest in the other girl's words overriding her eagerness to be in Isane's hand.

"What does _iai_ mean?" The tone from the slender girl forcibly reminded Isane of Kuchiki-taichou's icy demeanor.

Isane closed her eyes. "Uhm... to be present?"

"And the other part?"

"There's another part?"

This time Shirogane collapsed onto the hardwood floor. "Yes, there's another part. I know that kendo is nearly all what they teach, but a fukutaichou should know the other part."

Isane searched her memories for what iaido really was. Sword play in the middle of a fight had been the main emphasis of the instructors. They had practiced cuts and blocks, gives and takes all in the flow of the battle. They'd trained strength into all their muscles and reactions for during sword play. The single draw and cut of iaido seemed too focused and refined a moment to have merited that much attention. The word itself was less familiar to her, now, than she wanted it to be, but iaido itself was... "Oh... to be present and to react to what happens."

Shirogane breathed a sigh of relief and climbed to her feet. "Were you actually present when you put your hand on your zanpakutou?"

"I'm right here," Isane said, exasperated by Shirogane's tone.

"No. Were you _present_? Your reiatsu didn't feel like it was all here, it's not focused. You had no intent."

Isane blinked at that and tried to not laugh. "You mean like a meditative presence? Just... being?"

"No, kinda... Yes." The slender, mousy girl stood there looking at her. "Like this," she said, taking a slow breath, and suddenly Isane stepped back half a step. "You feel it."

Isane nodded. It wasn't like the power that the Captains could bring to bear, or what she, herself even was able to carry. Not a heightening of power, but a sudden sharpening of it, like a view through a telescope suddenly brought into focus.

She frowned at how to do such a thing and got distracted by worrying about how Ukitake-taichou was going to possibly even get into the house with this much dust all over, what she was going to do with this knowledge when Gin's troops came, would she even....

"Just focus on being right here and now. Not wherever your memories, thoughts, or speculations are," Shirogane said evenly.

Isane tried to get a grip on all her thoughts and worries, but like tiny silver fish scattering from her hands, they kept popping up. She groaned.

"Try thinking about your breathing, or how your body feels, or the texture of the floor." Shirogane's voice was low and soothing.

Isane frowned and started to close her eyes.

"No. Open your eyes. Meditate on what you see, not what you imagine you should see."

Isane blinked her eyes open and took the beginning stance, feeling the pull of her shoulders, the strength of her back, and the way her hips, legs, and feet connected her to the ground.

"That's it... you're getting there."

Isane took a deep, slow breath, feeling the way the air flowed through her body and fed her strength. She shifted, settling, and her hands moved deliberately to Itegumo's hilt and to her scabbard. This time she should feel her zanpakutou's eagerness, and it flowed into her like a redirected stream into a rice field, soaking in and bringing all of her to life.

It was Shirogane who took a step back this time. "Be careful not to release," she warned quietly.

Isane grinned at that; she was no newbie to shikai, drunk on her reiatsu. She nodded and this time her concentration was completely on what she was doing. She started at a standing stance with her feet only as far apart as her shoulders. She took three quick steps forward as her hands moved with one accord. The smoothness of the thin wood scabbard in her left hand, which she pulled forward and tilted at an angle. She held the rough hardness of Itegumo's hilt in her right hand, careful of the angle to both allow the _nukitsuki_ \-- the extra spring and jump from the release from the scabbard -- and to make sure that she wouldn't cut right through the thin wooden scabbard, not to mention her left hand, with the very same forces she hoped to use.

She forcibly suppressed as much of her reiatsu as she could when she unlocked her blade from the scabbard; the click was loud in the empty area. The hiss of steel against wood, and as the tip came free the strike arced like a fish jumping from the sea, flashing up and then down and to the right, smooth and fast. A quick flick to lose all the loose blood, and back up, drawn through the sleeve to clean the blade, and then sliding back with a soft _snick_ into the scabbard. Isane paused and then glanced over at Shirogane, who nodded back, eyes shining.

"Nicely done, Kotetsu-fukutaichou."

Isane straightened at the formal use of her title and name, and she felt a blush heat her cheeks, and realized that the other had not truly addressed her directly before this moment.

"Your powers are considerable," Shirogane said, eyes shining. "I think you would do even better with surprise on your side. You said that you've learned both standing and seated positions; has anyone taught you one of the half-seated forms?"

Isane shook her head.

"And you've been taught the follow up _furikamuri_ , yes?"

Isane mutely shook her head again, and Shirogane groaned. "We have to do at least that, in both the standard positions, as follow through for the first shot, and I have to show you at least one of the half-sitting positions. It might be more useful for you if you're caught behind the desk or in a chair, and I think I can add a nasty surprise for someone not expecting to be hit at that level."

"We have time for all that?"

"You have good kendo skills, right? It shows in your footwork and your intent."

Isane nodded mutely, blushing again.

"It should be fast enough."

Together, they walked through three different standing kata, no waza, that started with the things Isane knew, and then added some of the same cuts she'd learned from kendo. They talked through scenarios, and then walked through them in the library, the imposing main bedroom, and then down in the closer confines of the kitchen. The bedroom and library seemed shaped for the sitting and half-sitting waza, though the entry areas worked well with the standing ones. The kitchen proved a problem with its close confines, and Shirogane took the opportunity to show Isane a few underhand cuts that could use the visual shielding of both the desk and the countertops in the kitchen to hide their launching from an enemy.

What struck Isane the most was that in everything Shirogane showed her, there were no blocks, not even a token attempt at defense. This training form for violence was nothing but "see the opening and cut it".

It reminded her, a long time ago, of seeing Unohana-taichou unexpectedly caught in a swarm of Hollow. The slender Captain had surprised her by not backing down in the least. Instead she had cut them down with a precision and brutal speed unlike anything Isane had seen in the sparring grounds, attempted violence met with an uncompromising violence that ended it all quickly.

Afterward, she'd asked Unohana-taichou about the incident and the woman had thought a moment before answering her. "I simply wanted it over quickly. Once violence begins I simply do not wish to be hurt or for those around me to be hurt, so I end it by any means possible."

With the constant physical reminder, she realized that iaido was a means by which to end a one-on-one confrontation as quickly as possible. Still, Isane couldn't help but get caught up in the grace of the motions themselves. Their pared-down economy was beautiful in its own right, and the meditative aspects of the art soothed her tired heart like a balm.

At the end, when Kuukaku shouted from the main entrance that they had to be done as Shirogane had an appointment, both of them were covered in sweat, though they'd never raised sword against each other. They bowed their mutual respect.

"Does your school have sparring or ways to practice against each other?" Isane asked, doubtfully. She didn't see how it could be done safely, and nearly every other school of martial arts she'd partaken in had had some form of sparring.

Shirogane shook her head emphatically. "No, there is no such thing. Even cutting through objects is prohibited."

"How useful is it then?" Isane asked, frowning, even as her heart leapt at the idea of never having to draw her sword against a friend.

Shirogane's face stilled. "I've killed a few people with it. I think you could, easily, with your reach and how you hide your reiatsu most of the time."

Isane's eyes widened. "I hide my reiatsu?"

"Yeah, most of the time you seem like some mouse trying to find a hole to hide in. Your spiritual strength seems broken by all the things that have happened, but you shone when you really got it together. I..." Shirogane sighed. "I just don't like being noticed too much, so I look like some bookish mousy girl with glasses so no one thinks I'm worth fighting. So I kind of sympathize, but you really have the full power of a fukutaichou, Kotetsu, so use it. You'll do fine."

That was when Isane realized what had been bothering her the whole time.

"You'll do fine, too," she suddenly said, leaping in with the comment as if she were talking to her sister.

Shirogane took half a step back. "Is it really that obvious?"

Isane smiled shyly, glad that she'd been right. She shook her head. "No, it isn't at all obvious. I just... your reiatsu... you're as shaky about something as I am about this."

Pursed lips met her assessment. "Yeah. This helps though. Helping you with your problem, I think got my mind off of mine. I really liked working with you."

"Can you talk about it?"

Shirogane shook her head. "Better that you don’t know, I think, though that just might be Madarame's rules rubbing off on me, but what you don't know can't be gotten out of you."

Isane nodded again, and this time she bowed low. "Thank you, senpai, for the lesson not only in sword work, but in how important it is for me to simply be present, right here and now."

Shirogane blushed and bowed back. "Just... just survive what you have to do, so I can teach you again, all right?"

"Yes. I'll do my best," Isane answered. "You too, right?"

"Right."

Shirogane turned to leave, but then suddenly turned back to Isane, who opened her arms. Both women hugged each other tight, before Shirogane squared her shoulders and left. Taking her new lessons to heart, Isane watched her go, refusing to let the despair that had always crashed down on her get the best of her. Instead, she gripped the hilt of Itegumo and replayed in her mind the flashing arc of her own strike.


	16. Nanao: Looking For A Blonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a pressure on the world. -- by incandescens

**WINTER WAR: NANAO: LOOKING FOR A BLONDE**

  


_Impromptu Meeting To Discuss Matsumoto Impersonation  
Notes taken by Ise Nanao_

 

Well, this should be the easiest part of the plan, Ukitake-taichou says.

Sasakibe-fukutaichou agrees, says how many blondes do we have here anyhow, there has to be someone who is tall and big.

Iba-fukutaichou says no there isn't.

Sasakibe-fukutaichou says really?

Ukitake-taichou does that thing with his eyebrows.

No there really isn't, Iba-fukutaichou says, I mean, have you looked at them?

Yeah, Madarame says, you got a point, there's nobody with tits like she used to have.

Everyone looked at me (Ise Nanao).

I know perfectly well what you are talking about, I say, I am not _entirely_ deficient in vocabulary, even if Kyouraku-taichou would have described them as twin moons of delight, peaks of joy, glorious bosoms of marble, breasts sculpted by a master, paired pears of pleasure, etc --

Madarame has coughing fit.

Yes well can you think of anyone, Ise-kun, says Ukitake-taichou.

I am temporarily going over inhabitants of current base in my head when Iba-fukutaichou says simple, what about Isane-fukutaichou? All you need to do is stick a blonde wig on her.

Yeah, Madarame says, she's sure got the body for it, but isn't she a bit tall?

So we stick her with other tall people, Iba-fukutaichou says, it won't show too much.

It's perfect! Hinamori-fukutaichou says and bounces.

We may have problem, I say.

What is problem, says Ukitake-taichou.

We don't have a blonde wig, I say.

Oh come on, Madarame says, everyone knows women always have lots of hair stuff, all you need to do is to wash it in bleach or something, right?

No wait, Hinamori-fukutaichou says, Ise-fukutaichou is right, we don't have any blonde wigs and it would be sort of obvious if you tried bleaching Isane-fukutaichou's hair, it'd just look like someone dipped a lavender kimono in bleach and left it out in the sun, you know, sort of that colour that you get when indigo dye gets really faded and maybe even blotchy, besides --

Madarame says something which I did not manage to hear and/or record about how Certain People might have known all about that sort of thing but that he "sure as fuck" did not.

(Note to self: censor language before submitting final version.)

Is it really that difficult to make a blonde wig, Sasakibe-fukutaichou says.

Yes, says Soi Fong-taichou.

Sasakibe-fukutaichou spills tea due to Soi Fong-taichou appearing from behind him.

A fake blonde wig would be feasible from a distance, says Soi Fong-taichou, but at close range would be obviously false, and we have already agreed that this must be an impersonation at close quarters. The same goes for dyeing hair unless it can be done very well, and unfortunately we are lacking good facilities, short of going to Urahara Kisuke and asking him for blonde hair dye, which I do not think is acceptable.

I suppose you have a point, Ukitake-taichou says, it would be very difficult to mistake Isane-fukutaichou for Matsumoto-fukutaichou unless it was in pitch darkness.

(At this point Ukitake-taichou pauses a little. This is when Kyouraku-taichou would have made comment about pitch darkness and having to judge by touch, only _in a nice way_.)

It might be easier to find someone who is already blonde, I say, and, you know, pad them.

But could you really fake that properly, says Madarame. I mean, when a man gets his hands on that sort of thing --

At this point Hinamori-fukutaichou _totally accidentally_ spills her tea on Madarame and discussion is put on hold while she gets more tea.

I think we should remember that this should not involve anyone getting their hands on anyone, Ukitake-taichou says. This is purely visual illusion, right, Soi Fong-taichou?

I agree, Soi Fong-taichou says, and also we should bear in mind that we will be able to hide some details with bandages if Matsumoto-fukutaichou is supposed to be injured. Important details are some reiatsu, blonde hair, height, bosom and --

And this, Hinamori-fukutaichou says, and she brings out Matsumoto's necklace.

(Had not known she was wearing it.)

Right, says Soi Fong-taichou, thank you for this helpful contribution, Hinamori-fukutaichou. It will be passed back to you once we're done with it.

Some reiatsu, Shiba-sama says, why do we need reiatsu, you know, it might even be easier to have someone toting an unconscious blonde and I can think of a couple of the trainees at my place who --

It will be more convincing if the level of reiatsu suggests a vice-captain, Sasakibe-fukutaichou says. The people who see this need to be convinced, and then to convince Ichimaru.

Shiba-sama looks at her missing arm and I can just _tell_ that she is thinking of a really bad idea involving a fake arm or something.

Okay, Madarame says, what about Kaede from my group, she's got the bosom and --

Too short, Ukitake-taichou says, if she is the person I'm thinking of.

High heels, Madarame says.

They don't make them a foot high, Hinamori-fukutaichou says.

Madarame stops and thinks. What about Shirogane, he finally says. I mean, it's not that she's, he looks at me, not really, um, _gifted_ in the tits area, but she's blonde and she's the right sort of height, and she's got some reiatsu, they wouldn't write her off as a nobody. And she's a good actress.

But what about her glasses, Hinamori-fukutaichou says. You know that she's not very good without them --

No, that'll help, Soi Fong-taichou says, we'll add a bandage and it'll make her look as if she's injured, with a couple of people helping her.

Everyone thinks about this and someone gets more tea.

(Delete bit about tea in formal report.)

Yeah, Madarame says, she'd do fine. She's competent. She's on watch at the moment, supposed to be working with Kotetsu later, we can catch up with her and explain things then.

Indeed, Soi Fong-taichou says, I will do so.

Madarame gives Soi Fong-taichou a look.

Soi Fong-taichou gives Madarame a look.

Both give each other looks.

Please do that, Soi Fong-taichou, says Ukitake-taichou. And Ise-kun, why exactly are you taking notes? This should all be over in a couple of days, and I do not expect anyone's memory to fail them that fast.

Everyone gives me a look.

Well, sir, I say. You never know what might be important.

(Note to self: edit that bit out.)


	17. Hanatarou: Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanatarou and most of the rest of the Fourth have been taken, by Aizen, to Hueco Mundo. Hanatarou deals with what he finds as best he can. -- by liralenli

**Hanatarou: Underground**

  


Hanatarou ducked into an underground passageway rather than meet up with Ichigo, who was trying to pick a fight with a silent Ulquiorra. The mask always threw him. That wasn't the Ichigo he knew, and his heart and head still ached badly after having trusted the young man so much in the sewers under Soul Society.

He trembled as he ran his fingers along the collar about his throat. He should be worried about himself and those still living and suffering with him, not for those he couldn't help.

Poor Sato's head had come off cleanly, and he needed to know how it had been done.

Aizen had come to the quarters that housed what was left of the Fourth, soon after Unohana-taichou had vanished into the desert. The cafeteria had been abuzz with talk about what had happened.

"Do you think we could break out like that?" Sato had whispered excitedly. "She'd be out there, too, and if we could get her back to being sane again, she'd help us, wouldn't she?"

"Unohana-taichou seemed so badly hurt, I don't know if she could," Akari whispered, looking worried. Unohana-taichou's spectacular destruction of an entire wing of Szayel's labs had been in broad daylight. Hanatarou and Akari had been on medic duty, and while they treated several Hollow guards and servants they heard the story from them. Aizen's entrance stopped every breath in the room.

"Dear members of the Fourth Division, I know that some wild rumors have been going around. I am here to quell them," Aizen had intoned with that smile Hanatarou found so very frightening.

"But we saw the huge gaping hole in the walls of the lab, sir," Sato said boldly. "What was that?"

"Just a runaway explosion." Aizen exuded reassurance. "It was nothing to be worried about: not nearly as dangerous as the sands of the desert, now."

"What could happen out there? There's nothing out there!" Sato had stood up, and there were low mutters all about them from the other members of the Fourth.

Hanatarou thought about hiding under the table.

Then he wished he had. There was a low pulse of Aizen's reiatsu. There was something to that man's power that made Hanatarou's gut curl in against itself. Something resonated louder and louder with the throb of that reiatsu, there was a bang, and Sato's head had came cleanly off.

It bounced under the tables.

Akari screamed as blood rained down everywhere.

Hanatarou's first thought was that he had never felt the rain in Hueco Mundo. His second was that now he wished he never had. People stood up hastily and tried to get away as the head rolled under their feet. Sato's body flopped next to him, and he could see bone and muscle twitching.

He'd seen worse. He wasn't sick right then and there, but his heart felt like it was trying to leap from his chest.

"Such a bother. Especially with those collars I had Kurotsuchi put on all of you today." Aizen's voice was bored. "I suspect that that might happen more often in the desert than it would around here, so I shall advise you to be careful. That is all."

He had turned away. Hanatarou had been very careful not to look in his direction. Instead, he'd gone to get Sato's head, and had made sure that it was buried with the poor man's body. Then he went and took a long hot bath that felt like it should have scalded the skin from his bones. That was when he resolved to find the nature of the collars themselves.

Hanatarou had been very careful in his research. No one else would treat Yammi, so he'd volunteered once when Yammi lost a leg to a wild Hollow. He'd put himself in the path of the X-ray when getting ready to see the extent of the break, and made sure the collar was captured on film before switching out the films for Yammi's leg. He'd developed both at the same time to cover the usage of the chemicals, and managed to survive the encounter by cheerfully telling Yammi that Hanatarou would need to be the one to see him in follow-up care. No one else would be able to rebuild the bone correctly.

The X-ray showed a necklet of shaped charges all around the collar and some kind of triggering mechanism at the buckle. Hanatarou showed the film to the other members of the Fourth during one of their meals together.

"That was designed by Kurotsuchi," Akani had said softly, her eyes worried. "You can tell by this mechanism here." She pointed at the picture, the trigger structure stark black against the light. "He used that in the triggers on the internal bombs he put in his own Division members. I remember seeing those when I was trying to heal someone that had just broken a rib in a practice session."

"He's a monster," muttered someone else.

"And he's now got a lab and his own Fraccion," said Hanatarou softly. "I guess this means I have to get into that lab and see if there's any record of how these things are triggered or something."

"Why do you need to know that?" Akari asked puzzled. "You don't want to set them off, to you?"

"No." Hanatarou shook his head. "If we're to escape, to do something for Unohana-taichou, there would be no point to either if he could just blow our heads off. We have to take care of this, first. Then we can get out of here."

Akari's dark eyes studied him quietly. "You really do think we can get out of this, don't you? That there might be an end that isn't just us all being turned Hollow and bowing to Aizen or just moving on to the living world."

Hanatarou nodded fiercely. "Yes, I do."

She sighed. "You're the only one I think who does, but all right, I'll help you. I think this is what you need to look for..."

So here he was, creeping through the tunnels that went under and throughout Hueco Mundo. The Fourth Division had mapped the tunnels, as was their way, just as they'd figured out the tunnels under Soul Society. Hanatarou skirted around the place below where Rukia-sama had finally died by Kuchiki-sama's hand, as the Captain had once promised so fiercely and had, in the end, so reluctantly made true. He stopped a moment to simply remember her, keenly feeling the loss of her quiet courage.

At least she was safe, now.

He wouldn't let himself rejoice in having seen Kuchiki-sama take his own life afterward, as the anguish had been plain even behind that marble façade.

He moved on toward Kurotsuchi's labs. It was early morning, and he slipped in through the maintenance entrance from the tunnels. He procured one of the cleaning carts, and half-heartedly mopped his way through the mostly deserted building. A Nemu swayed by on high heels and in a too-tight skirt, clipboard in hand, nodding to him pleasantly. He nodded back.

It wouldn't do to show too much enthusiasm or speed when going by the enclosures for the test subjects. He couldn't help shivering, though, at the sounds he heard as he went by on the way to Kurotsuchi's personal office. He looked in a doorway and then hurriedly away from the sight of another Nemu in surgical scrubs working away at something on a surgical table.

He suppressed the urge to gag and kept going.

The door to the office was firmly closed and locked. He tried the cleaner's skeleton key, and to his surprise it fit in the keyhole and turned smoothly. He went in, and automatically emptied the trash can into the container on the cleaning cart. He began sweeping, but started badly as keening rose from a solid cage in the corner of the office.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said softly as he approached the solid-walled cage.

Something hit the inside of that wall hard, with snarling and a scrabbling of claws, and Hanatarou fell on his butt trying to get away.

When he could breathe again, he got up, and was startled again by a Nemu wrapped in nothing but a sheet who blinked at him sleepily.

"You are early, cleaner," she said in her uninflected voice.

He gave a nervous half-bow and looked at his feet.

She gave a quiet hm. "You are not like the other one, are you?"

Hanatarou had no idea whom she was talking about, so he simply shook his head in agreement.

"Good. I do not need another delay before getting back to my research duties. I will get out of your way." The sheet fell to the floor and Hanatarou looked away, blushing madly, as she walked to her clothing and put the pieces on, ignoring the soft sounds of anger and distress still coming from the cage.

He automatically began sweeping again, and she walked out when he was halfway done. There were so many Nemu about now that he was uncertain of how to address them, so he tried not to. The thing in the cage thumped hard against the side as it settled again, and Hanatarou was only thankful that the Hollow-feeling reiatsu coming from it was unfamiliar to him.

There were three monitors lined up next to each other on the desk, and when Hanatarou touched the keyboard before them, they all flickered on. Dozens of shells popped open with command prompts. Hanatarou looked at them in dismay at first, but then he sat down and began clicking on thing, delving into the histories of each screen before trying a few commands. Soon he was wandering through the directories of files, grateful that for all that Kurotsuchi might be as crazy as a rabid bat, he was logical about organizing his data.

He found the projects directories, and went to earlier dates, until he saw one named "leashes.prj". He looked through the text notes, especially the one marked "trgnts.txt", and then sat there for a very long moment.

Hanatarou put the prompt back to the top of the directory tree, cleaned up the log, and pushed the little crescent moon button at the top of the keyboard, and all the screens went dark.

There was whimpering from the cage.

Hanatarou said softly, "I know what you feel like."

Then he thoroughly dusted the cabinets, bookcases, and desk, swept the rest of the floor, and then put everything neatly away on the cart.

He made his way back to the cart holding area, and back out through the maintenance shafts.

Hanatarou thought frantically as he walked through the shafts, down among the caves threading through the heart of the underground, and there he suddenly stopped.

He laid his forehead against the cool stone, hands up on the walls. He couldn't sense any reiatsu here, none at all. The place behind that wall even the Fourth was not allowed to go, where the cleaning and maintenance were done only by those already Hollowed. There were rumors that high-powered folks were being kept amid Sekkiseki stone, in cells designed to drain the soul powers of those contained within. No one knew, though. No one knew anything.

Suddenly there was a bestial howl that echoed among the rocks, and Hanatarou scrambled to his feet. He walked quickly along the way back to the hallways of the palace, sighing in relief as the howl sounded again further away. His reiatsu was low enough that he could slip by, but he was now glad that he hadn't brought anyone else with him.

He tugged lightly at the collar about his throat, careful to stay away from the clasp that locked it into place. Hanatarou sighed. Well, at least there was the possibility now. He hadn't had that before, and if someone did come up with a plan to try and have the whole of the Fourth Division escape, they would simply have to add another step.

Hanatarou walked up into sunlight that didn't warm him at all, and headed back to the barracks, not sure what in the world or who might come up with something that could get all the Fourth to try.


	18. Lisa: Prisoner's Dilemna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything Lisa knew about gambling she learned from her captain. But that was a very long time ago. -- by sophia_prester

**Lisa: Prisoner's Dilemna**

  


Prudence had done them in. It was a quick explanation, pithy and largely accurate, but every time Lisa thought about the whole notion of prudence, she invariably wound up with several tracks from the Beatles' White Album stuck in her head for hours.

That wasn't too bad, actually--running through the lyrics to 'Glass Onion' and trying to figure out what the hell they were _about_ at least gave her something to think about that wasn't the biggest 'what if' in her life. But in the end, light diversion always gave way to darker thoughts.

Hueco Mundo was far from the first 'what if' she had wrestled with. For a very long time in the living world, far longer than she should have, Lisa often found herself just staring at words on a page rather than reading them, only pretending to be lost in a book when she was truly lost in wondering what might have happened if her captain hadn't sent her on that last mission.

Even now, she could remember the look on his face as he glanced over his shoulder. It was one of the few memories of Soul Society she was sure had not been corrupted with time. _Will you do it?_ he'd asked. Asked, not ordered, and with a seriousness that told her there was more going on than he could tell. He was worried.

Very worried, and with what turned out to be very good reason.

It took her more than forty years to put that particular 'what if' game to bed, replacing it with less consuming thoughts. Sometimes, she might wonder if Kyouraku-taichou had any idea what had happened to her, and what he thought if he did. Sometimes, she worried about him, and how he was doing without her and whether or not he was still alive. Other times, she wanted to give him a bloody nose and a black eye, and maybe a knee to the groin by way of punctuation.

The only reason she wasn't more willing to dump blame on him was that she suspected he'd dumped more than enough on himself over the past century.

All he'd done, though, was be careful. Prudent. And look where it got her. Them.

A few months ago, her friends been careful. Prudent. Several times a day now, Lisa thought that if maybe Shinji had just said _shut up, this is the way it's gonna be, this is what we're gonna do, so let's roll_ , everything would have been different.

Hiyori wouldn't have argued and gone on arguing. Rose wouldn't have played devil's advocate. In the lull, Kensei wouldn't have started in with Mashiro about whatever the hell they always bickered about, distracting everyone and giving Hacchi time to suggest that they make sure they had looked at _all_ their possible alternatives. Her attention might not have wandered while she waited for everyone to settle down enough to listen to reason. They might have actually done something.

But, instead of _doing_ , she had just stood there, thinking, running odds on scenario after scenario, trying to decide if going to action now or later was better. She was just about to tell Shinji she thought they should monitor the situation for a few hours before attempting to join the battle when the wall opposite her cracked and crumbled away.

And thus, a whole new game of 'what if' began.

Some of it was wishful thinking. The rest of it was a nauseated giddiness at how things _could_ have gone down. If she hadn't moved within leaping distance of cover the instant she heard the sound of crumbling masonry and torquing metal. If she had followed Hiyori's lead and rushed straight at their attacker rather than falling back and waiting to see what they were dealing with.

Prudence was not _always_ a bad thing. Lisa had learned long ago that there were times for taking crazy risks and time for playing it close and careful. She had also learned that it wasn't always easy to tell the difference.

If she had been someone else, or had had the misfortune to serve under a different captain, Lisa might well be a pile of bone and dust right now. But she was who she was, and she'd been what she'd been, and instead of having been washed down the gutter with the next rain or feeling guilty that she _hadn't_ , she was walking down a hallway that had all the warmth and homey charm of a subway restroom.

She wasn't going anywhere in particular just then, but she walked with purpose. She had Haguro Tonbo slung across her back and a green felt-tipped marker in one hand.

Just another day in Paradise.

Lisa was convinced that whoever or whatever had designed Las Noches had picked up some pretty subtle ideas from Lovecraft. Subtle, because of the distinct lack of tentacles (except for that one Privaron she had the misfortune of meeting), and because things were only just _slightly_ off true in a way that suggested it had all been done deliberately. Most angles were just a little off square, and the rooms were proportioned in ways that made them feel too small or too big. And the walls...

She twirled the green marker between her fingers, and whistled the theme to _Lingerie Senshi Papillon Rose_.

'White' was the way most people would describe the general look of the place, but in fact the majority of the public spaces were a flat, lifeless shade of very pale blue gray that managed to seem too bright and glaring when it was hot, but only added to the chill when it was cold.

Add to that the fact that the entire outside of the place looked like a fucking nuclear power plant, and you had yourself a keen place to build a couples' resort. Or something.

She tossed the marker up in the air, but when she went to catch it, she misjudged the arc and nearly swatted it away before she fumbled it into her grasp. She did not toss it again. It was no big deal, not really, but it was a good reminder that boredom led to carelessness.

Carelessness was far more lethal than prudence.

Her paranoia duly amped up, Lisa paused just before the next crossing and reached out with her spiritual sense to see if there was anyone coming down the other hallway. She did feel another presence, off to what she'd designated for convenience's sake as 'east,' but it wasn't moving.

Once she'd determined that much, she pulled back. Flickers and flares of spiritual energy were common here, but sustained interest might be noticed. Besides, there was a _something_ near the center of the complex that scratched at her mind the way a nail would scratch across stone. If she touched for too long, she would come away feeling like she was at the tail end of the world's worst hangover--but without all the fun at the front end.

And that right there was the difference between then and now. Sixty some-odd years ago, Lisa had gradually stopped playing 'what if' because she had just as gradually begun to _like_ being in the living world. She liked the music. The food. The movies (oh, the movies!), the manga, the shops, the nightlife. Television was a wonder. So was the internet. So was the club that had fifty-five different imported beers on tap.

This place, though, had nothing like that. Nothing she was willing to get used to, let alone like.

No, there was one thing. She _did_ like the killer pair of white go-go boots that were part of her new uniform. They were the sort of funky-retro thing she might have stared at in a shop window for a few weeks before giving in and buying them. When things got back to normal (it was always _when_ , never _if_ , even though she knew she was lying to herself), she would wear them out clubbing.

She would hit every single club in Roppongi. It would take her days. Days, and it wouldn't matter how much she drank because she would dance it all off in those sexy white boots.

Afterwards, she would burn those fucking boots and all of her white shirts and everything else that reminded her of this place, and she would dance naked around the fire and shout and scream while the sparks swirled up into the air.

For now, she would endure. She had seen Tokyo burn twice. She had also seen it rebuilt twice. She knew what people--ordinary, living people--could endure, even when hope seemed too far off. And so, she would follow their example and endure, and find what little entertainment she could.

At the next crossroads, she stopped and uncapped the marker. She thought about drawing a little fire and some dancing sparks, but the marker was green, so she drew a tiny tree instead. Her first attempt looked too much like a mushroom cloud for comfort, so she scribbled in a few more branches. When she was finished, she wasn't exactly satisfied with her work, but she did have a craving for beef with broccoli.

Beef with broccoli. A bottle of good, imported beer--porter if she could get it. A pint of chocolate ice cream all to herself. A night spent watching stupid game shows.

No, wait. Scratch the ice cream. Mmm, no. Ditch the beer instead. The game was called 'Three Things I Miss from Home,' not Four. Three was nostalgia. Four was wallowing. She would miss beer tomorrow and chocolate ice cream today.

A spike in reiatsu rudely shoved all thoughts of chocolate and future beer aside. She knew who it was even before she reached the curve in the hall and came face-to-face with him.

She did not even bother hiding the way her hand rose to Tonbo's hilt, or any of the drawling contempt in her voice.

"Oh. You."

Him. The first time Lisa had ever seen him, he was only one of too many worries. What she remembered most about him was just how quickly curiosity had turned to simple disgust.

The second time she'd seen him, it was only because of the threatened consequences to another that she hadn't sliced that tattoo right off his face.

As for Hisagi Shuuhei, he'd mostly regarded her with cold apathy on the rare occasions their paths crossed. He never said much, and for a while was always perfectly professional and coolly controlled, but now...

The son-of-a-bitch had just about jumped out of his skin when she rounded the corner on him, and Lisa knew damn well he should have sensed her as much as she'd sensed him. Or he would have a few weeks ago. No, more like a month ago.

The more time went by, the more Hisagi looked like he'd been ridden hard and put up wet--and not in the fun way, either. He had gone from lean to noticeably gaunt over the past several weeks, and she could swear that each time she saw him, there were more flecks of gray in his hair. One temple was already a lost cause.

He recovered his composure fast enough, except for the rapid pulse still hammering so high in his throat she could see it.

"My apologies. I didn't expect to find anyone here."

_No shit._

"Oh?" She cocked her head and did her best to look innocent, although she still kept her hand in the 'draw and then mince' position on Tonbo's hilt. "So if you're not expecting to find someone, what are you doing here?"

The composure slipped, just a little. There was a twitch in the corner of his unscarred eye and a tightening of an already knife-thin smile. "I--" he coughed, discreetly covering it with the top of his fist, then tried again. "I _am_ trying to find someone, but was looking to find them over that way."

A nod of his head indicated the direction, and Lisa looked despite herself. Immediately in view there was nothing but a wall, but if he went a little further, and turned in that direction when he got to where she'd drawn the tree-slash-broccoli stalk, it would take him to one of the outer walls that stood between them and the rest of Hueco Mundo.

She was not allowed to go that far. Not on her own, anyway.

"I'm going to see if the last patrol found any sign of our Sixth Espada," he said, even though she had not asked. She wondered if he noticed he'd gone from looking for an individual to looking for an entire patrol.

"Sixth? Is that Grimmjow? I thought I'd heard he hadn't been seen in a while. I know _I_ haven't seen him around much." Normally, when dealing with Hisagi, she'd keep interactions to a minimum and then move on. Not that it was difficult, given how little he normally said to her. This kind of talkativeness wasn't normal, and one of the many things Lisa had learned about Las Noches was that deviations from routine rarely boded well. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Short, sharp, and just a little too fast. "No one knows."

 _No one except maybe you, perhaps?_ "Wish I could say I was sorry." His eyes widened slightly, but the really telling part was how one corner of his mouth lifted just as slightly. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, as she decided to take a little gamble, just to see what happened. The stakes were low enough. "The idiot tried to grab my ass once. He's lucky he kept his hand."

It was a lie, of course. She'd only ever seen Grimmjow from across a room (lickable abs and nice tight hips--bummer about the hole), but Hisagi didn't know that. Again, he looked startled, but this time, she thought she heard a _huff_ of wry laughter.

She was less surprised by his reaction than she was at the low surge of anger she felt at seeing him act so... _likeable_.

"So, any theories? Any suspicions?" She paused barely long enough to break the rhythm. "Any likely suspects?"

The shadow of humor faded so quickly it might as well have been imaginary. And while he didn't actually flinch as she fired off her last question, his face grew so unreadable it told her volumes. Too bad for him Lisa knew far more about masks than he could ever hope to learn.

"No." The scars and tats would have held most people's eye, deflecting attention from the slight movements at the corner of the mouth or up in the forehead, or the way his eyes cut sharply to the left just before he answered. Something happened that made his cheeks seem just a little bit more sunken, the lines framing his mouth a touch deeper. His control was good, but not good enough that she couldn't see he was still jumpy as hell.

"Aizen-sama's not _worried_ about him, is he?" She still had to remind herself to use the honorific. It was easiest just to avoid saying the man's name if she could. She forced a laugh. "I mean, wasn't Grimmjow in the doghouse once before?"

Hisagi shrugged. "That was before our time. Anyhow, I'd better go check--I don't want to get in trouble."

He set off, and Lisa fell into step beside him. Two things warred for her attention: the reference to 'our' time that pissed her off more than she wanted to admit, and the lack of reference about who he'd be in trouble with or what that trouble might be.

She had assumed that Hisagi hadn't been saddled with the same kinds of "guarantees of continued good behavior" she had, but with this new jumpiness she was no longer certain. Maybe he'd simply screwed up and was trying to keep it from biting him in the ass, but now she considered the possibility that something else was going on. She didn't waste time chastising herself for having made a potentially invalid assumption in the first place.

"What? Are they threatening you with 'quality time' in Szayel's lab or something? I can't blame you for wanting to avoid it--it's not any fun."

She counted the sidelong glare she received as a point in her favor. Two points, given the glimmer of horrified surprise that came through the annoyance. When he spoke again, he refused to look at her.

"You aren't..." He caught himself, but from what she couldn't tell. "I mean, there's no need for you to come with me, Yadomaru-san."

He could have ordered her off. Maybe he was afraid she'd start asking questions of the wrong people. She matched him step for step. "Hey, I'm bored. I don't have anything else to do."

She could see him fighting the urge to look at her more closely, to study her. They'd spoken so little that she knew he had to have no idea who she was or what she was like, and now he was curious.

She wasn't sure what to make of that, other than to wonder how she could turn it to her advantage--without putting herself any more at risk than she was.

He did a completely dorky double-take when he saw her broccoli tree. "What the hell is that supposed to be?"

"A tree."

He looked at the drawing, puzzled, then back at her, equally puzzled.

"Like I said, I'm bored." His confusion was kind of cute, really. Under other circumstances, she very well might have turned to him weeks ago to alleviate that boredom, but there was no chance in hell of that happening now. "I'm _always_ bored. Well, except for the times when I'm scared shitless. It's either one or the other. You know how it goes."

He shook his head and kept walking, apparently resigned to her presence. As for Lisa, she rifled through her memories, working to piece together what she _knew_ about this idiot and what she had only been able to guess at.

Well, she knew his name, and his rank, and his connection to Kensei's division.

Kensei... She willed her fist not to clench as she snuck another look at that sick joke of a tattoo. The last she'd seen of Kensei, he was falling off a roof, rot rushing up his leg like fire up dry straw. Mashiro leapt up to try to catch him, Rose's Kinshara snaked out to wrap around Kensei's thigh just above the dead part, and both of them were between Kensei and Barragan when Barragan raised his hand again.

After that, well... The best Lisa could tell, Barragan's first attack had hit a couple of load-bearing supports in a nearby building, and both she and Love were taken out by a few hundred tons of falling concrete and steel before they could do a single damned thing to help their friends. She had vague memories of fighting off someone or something while her vision was swirling and her left hand was a mass of white-hot squishy agony, but that was as much dream as reality.

She supposed it was possible that Kensei, Rose, and Mashiro were okay, that someone had pulled a miracle out of their ass at the last moment, but she chose to classify that thought as a wish rather than a hope.

_Kensei's face, gray with pain. A wave of something like smoke rumbling towards Rose and Mashiro. A shock that hit every bone in her body and made everything go searing white before it went completely black._

No, not a lot of room for hope. Shinji and Hiyori were both dead. Shinji first, almost before they even knew they were under attack. Hiyori seconds later, howling with rage and leaping straight at their attacker.

Lisa didn't see Hiyori die, but she could imagine it well enough. She had seen what happened to Shinji. She heard Hiyori's screams as she pulled Mashiro out of the way and behind cover. Slapping Mashiro had been as much about keeping her own composure as it had been about jolting Mashiro out of her horrified shock.

"We left it too long," Lisa told her. Even now, she could still see the red shape of her hand on Mashiro's cheek. "We should have brought the battle to _them_. What we need to do now is regroup."

If she couldn't be calm, logical was the next best thing.

Unfortunately, Rose and Love decided that vengeance and honor trumped logic, and it all went downhill from there. She could almost hear her captain behind her, murmuring about how foolish it all was.

When it was all over and she came to, she was in a large, white room, so large that the ceiling and the far walls darkened to twilight grey with the distance. At the time, she assumed her vision was still off-kilter from the knock to the head, but she later came to realize that most of the rooms in Las Noches had that effect.

She was on her knees with her hands bound tight behind her, and while her shoulders ached from being pulled back at an awkward angle while she slumped forward, her left hand no longer hurt. Her fingers moved at her will, and the only sign that she'd been injured were a slight, residual weakness and something like a memory of pain. Love was kneeling to one side of her, but she couldn't feel his reiatsu. Or anyone's reiatsu, for that matter. And when she gave an experimental tug against her bonds, the sudden drain on her own power left her dizzy. Well, _more_ dizzy.

"I already tried that. I almost blacked out again. There's something else going on, though. It's not just the shackles," Love muttered. It was odd to see him without his glasses, and Lisa had the sudden and completely out-of-place thought that he really did have the prettiest eyes. "Where the hell do you think we are?"

Lisa looked around, and the surge of vertigo made her wish she hadn't. She did see a bulky form to Love's right. It was large, and round, and vaguely human, but wrapped round and around with thick black bandages. She couldn't sense them, but she'd seen similar in higher-level binding kidou.

"No clue. Is that Hacchi?" she asked, even though she was sure that it was. As her vision cleared even more, she noticed a faint demarcation on the floor, where it went from one shade of cold white to another. "This is sekkiseki stone! Those assholes parked us on a slab of sekkiseki!"

"Aw, well, you know how it is." A cheerful voice came from the far end of the room, but sounded strangely close, as if it had slithered across the ceiling to drop down behind them. "Can't have you all up and doing something stupid."

She and Love looked in three different directions before dizzily settling on the right one. Two children had entered by the far door, one pale-haired, the other dark. At the sight of the pale one, Lisa was wracked by a chilling _déjà vu_. She'd seen that smirking child once before, possibly in a nightmare, or maybe in a memory that was muddled by pain and the passage of years.

But as the two walked towards them, they grew rapidly as the strange angles of the room wreaked havoc with her perception of far and near, big and small. The 'children' became men soon enough, and it was Lisa's turn to feel small.

She already hated them just for that.

"Know who they are?" Love whispered. It was much too loud.

Lisa shook her head, even though the silver-haired one tugged at some memory that would not come loose. He smiled so broadly Lisa felt sharp hooks pulling at the corners of her own mouth. It was not, of course, a sincere smile, and Lisa couldn't see his eyes well enough to gauge what he might be thinking. He didn't _look_ injured, but his easy, slouching swagger had a hesitation to it.

"Taichou's been looking to get hold of you all for a long time, y'know." The Kansai accent and babying tone should have sounded ludicrous, but instead, it only made Lisa that much more aware of how her wrists were bound and how all her power was draining away into the stone beneath her. "Shame we only got the three of ya. Taichou wasn't real happy 'bout that. He wanted to meet up with Hirako again something fierce. Barragan might've been real strong, but he wasn't real smart. Ain't that always the case?"

He walked closer, careful to skirt the edge of the sekkiseki, circling away from Lisa and towards Hacchi.

"'Course, we did land ourselves a _nice_ big fish, here. Oh, Aizen-taichou's got plans for this one..." He then turned to look at Love--who was so far remaining blessedly silent--and Lisa. He tilted his head slightly, and his smile gained even more of an edge. "And for you, too."

"Don't bluster," Lisa whispered, as loud as she dared. She heard a grumble from Love, but nothing more, thank heavens. She doubted Kensei or Hiyori would have been as quiet, and as soon as the thought crossed her mind she braced herself for the pain it would bring.

She didn't feel anything.

As for Love, he maintained an unblinking focus on the other man in the room, a well-built, dark-haired man who was staring off into a far corner and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Even though she had a good view of his face in profile, Lisa would have been hard-pressed to say what he looked like past the three deep scars that cut him from brow to jawline. For some reason, she felt sorry for him.

Love, on the other hand, just seemed angry. But why? Why wouldn't he be more focused on the silvery, smiling man who circled them like a vulture? _He_ was the threat, with his sharp, sharp grin and a twitchy grip on his sword. The other man had his arms crossed tight across his chest. Poor form--it would take him at least two seconds to draw, and he was directly between them and the one door she could see. Distance was hard to judge in this place, but based on how long it took the men to walk from there to here, two flash steps should do it...

Lisa wondered when it would hit her, when she would stop looking around and analyzing everything coldly.

She quickly realized she was afraid of what would happen when she _did_ stop.

"What kind of plans?" she asked. She doubted she'd get an honest answer from the silver-haired man, but it seemed he was the sort of person who liked to talk, who liked to work over his victims with words rather than blows. The more time she could buy, the better the chance she could figure out something she could _do_.

She got another bit of mock surprise from Silver-hair. "My, my, my... Now, how'm I s'posed to know that? I ain't the one in charge, little miss."

Fuck him. She was older than him and he knew it. She remembered him now, that creepy little kid from the Fifth. Aizen's pet project, Shinji always called him.

"But thing is, you and you and you..." He tipped his sword towards each of them in turn. "Well, y'all are Vizard, ain't you? That's real special. There's a lot you could do for Aizen-taichou--y'all had best call him 'Aizen-sama,' mind--especially this big boy here."

He reached over the sekkisekki border snake-quick, and rubbed Hacchi's head hard enough to give him whiplash. He chuckled, and Lisa saw his companion wince. It was fast enough she almost missed it, but she was sure it wasn't just imagination. Maybe... If she played this right...

"We're not doing anything for 'Aizen-sama'." Love made the honorific sound like the worst insult in the world.

"Aw, that's real cute. Ain't it cute, Hisagi-fukutaichou?"

The scarred man finally turned to join the conversation when prompted. "Yes, sir."

So that's what Love was staring at.

The bastard had Kensei's tattoo on his _face_.

"You're talking like you got a choice in the matter or something, Aikawa-taichou. Course, it ain't 'taichou' no more, right?"

"Don't. I've got this," Lisa hissed.

Love either didn't hear her or was too angry to listen. "As if Aizen's any better! And you! Hisagi- _fukutaichou_. You're Ninth, yeah? That's your division? Right? _Right?_ "

The man turned aside, hiding the tattoo again. He said nothing.

Silver-hair was happy enough to answer on his behalf. "Sure is! Loyal to his captain all the way to his end. Not the captain you knew, o'course. You remember Tousen Kaname, dontcha?"

"Fifth seat of the Ninth. Muguruma-taichou thought _very_ highly of him," Lisa said before Love could make things any worse. She watched Hisagi closely, but he knew enough now to school his expression. "That's his apprentice?"

Again, a carefully schooled non-reaction from Hisagi.

"Yeah. We're having to do with second-best, dontcha know. Real shame. After everything Aizen-taichou did for Tousen and all. What a waste..."

Odd. _That_ got a reaction from Hisagi. A nauseated grimace that was there and gone almost before she saw it.

"What did he do to Tousen?" Love demanded. "The same thing he did to _us_? Damn, I hope so. The bastard set us up. He deserved to go through the same thing."

"Worse, actually," Silver-hair said cheerfully. He smiled, but it looked more like a wince, and when he spoke again, he sounded short of breath. "But that's neither here nor there right now. Right now, we got you, and all of the work Urahara put into you, all those things he did to make you stable, to make you strong..."

"Aizen wants to study us." Lisa was surprised at how easy it was to be calm. It only made her that much more scared for what would--what had to--come later. "He wants to see how we work."

Silver-hair chuckled and tapped the end of his nose. " _You_ two, anyway."

"Excuse me, Ichimaru-taichou." Hisagi managed to address the man directly without looking at him. "You mentioned Urahara. Aizen--Aizen-sama said..."

Oh, damn him for that! She needed to hear more--were they going to be separated? And why? She'd hoped that Ichimaru (one reminder, and the name slotted into place) would ignore the interruption, but he turned on Hisagi, hissing as if he were in pain. Hisagi didn't flinch.

Then, after a careful blanking of his features, Ichimaru's smile brightened and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, yes! We were talking 'bout Urahara. Y'all work with him, right?"

"Some," she said, as if it was no big deal, but she was reluctant to say so anyway. Lisa ignored Love trying to shush her. Kyouraku-taichou had shown her how an interrogation could sometimes give more information to the one being interrogated than it could to the one asking the questions. "Off and on."

They needed to be valuable, but not _too_ valuable. Kept safe, but not so safe that they could neither escape nor gather intelligence.

"Off and on, off and on..." Ichimaru nodded slowly and resumed his pacing. "Imagine you lot might need to get in touch with him real fast. Given your _condition_ and all."

"That was Shinji, mostly." Then, with her attention more on Hisagi than Ichimaru (and again ignoring Love's protests), she threw another piece of information out there. "Muguruma-taichou was sometimes the one to contact him."

It felt weird to call him that, and not 'Kensei,' but the lack of response on Hisagi's part told her a hell of a lot.

"Ahhh.... Well, that's a real shame, ain't it? You not being the one who knows where he is right now."

This was where she had to be careful. Every word right now was a gamble, but Lisa knew she was a damned fine gambler. Kyouraku-taichou had been the best teacher a girl could have wanted on that particular subject.

He'd even taught her how to take a losing hand and walk away with everyone's pay for the week. But all that was a very long time ago.

"No, there's nothing I can tell you about where he is." She sat up as straight as she could given how she was bound. All the better to convey 'resolute defiance.' "I saw him last a week ago, when he told us about the false Karakura--"

She blanked her face so carefully that anyone looking at her would assume she was covering a big slip-up. Twisting her wrists hard against their bindings made her go convincingly clammy and pale.

Love spluttered, but fortunately was only able to get out a barely coherent "Lisa, what are you doing!"

It helped sell her ruse, which was good. If Love had guessed at what she was doing and was playing along, that was _great_ , but Lisa thought it was only dumb luck that had kept him from fucking things up past repair just now. She had to steer this onto ground where his reactions wouldn't be as much of a variable.

"Now, now... The little lady's got it right."

Lisa decided she would castrate Ichimaru for that 'little lady' thing. Maybe not now, but definitely later.

"See, if you play along real nice an' all, you'll find it ain't so bad here."

"Nice. Right. Which is why you've got us tied up. Shit, can Hacchi even _breathe_ , the way you got him wrapped?"

Love was usually pretty even-tempered, but this was nothing at all like 'usually.' The only good thing that happened was that Hacchi moved, nodding his head ponderously. He was all right for the moment.

"Taichou's orders!" Ichimaru sing-songed, like this was all some sort of school-room game.

"Love, you're only making it worse!" Lisa had to get this under control, and fast. To hell with subtle manipulation and artful gamesmanship. Something about Ichimaru's voice made the short hairs at the back of her neck not so much stand up as want to dive for cover. It was harder to keep the panic out of her voice than it was to let a convincing bit slip in.

"And it could be much, much worse." Ichimaru actually _tsk-tsk-tsk'd_ as he circled the slab of sekkiseki stone. He snaked out his hand and rapped Lisa on the back of the head. She didn't even try to bite back the yelp of pain. If she was reading him right, he'd lose interest if it was too easy to get a reaction from her.

Every bit of strength she could save now was strength she could use later.

But the strike was so random. Too random.

"We can play nice," she said quickly. The worst possible people to gamble against were the erratic gamblers. You could strategize and bluff and manipulate all you wanted, but one wild play you weren't expecting could blow the entire game to pieces.

"Nice? These are the people that killed Shinji, Lisa. And you want to play _nice_?"

"What the hell else are we supposed to do, Love?" she hissed. She glared at him, hoping against hope he would see she was trying to buy them time. Time for what, she didn't know--yet.

She also hoped he would see that she knew their friends were dead, and what that meant. But this was not the time. Not now. Not until later. Much later.

"The lady's got a point, there, Aikawa-han. Ain't much else y'all can do right now. You know that, though. You pulled against them cuffs soon as you realized they were there, didn't you?"

Love turned his attention back to Ichimaru, straining to turn his head one direction then whipping it back in the other as he tried to follow the man's pacing. "Lisa, if they wanted us dead, we'd be dead. He said they want us alive," he whispered. "That Aizen wants us alive."

"So, what're you gonna do, then? Hm? All tied up like that?" This time, Ichimaru hit Love on the top of the head with that stupid wakizashi of his.

"Nothing." Love lifted his head as best he could, resolute. "We're not going to do a damned thing to help you. We're not going to dishonor our friends."

Lisa forced herself to face straight ahead, not to check to see if Love was talking to her as much as Ichimaru. Hisagi was looking off into the corner again, but he was sneaking a glance from time to time, following what was going on. His arms were still crossed tight over his chest.

"Your friends? You mean Muguruma-taichou and Otoribashi-taichou and all them?" Ichimaru giggled. "That's real funny."

Lisa saw Hisagi wince. His control was slipping. He didn't want to be there. She could see it plain as those scars on his face.

"You ain't tryin' to hold out for a rescue or something? Don't think that's going to happen, friend. Barragan said he killed 'em. Your friends. Killed 'em all. Course, Aizen wasn't too happy 'bout that, so we can't exactly ask Barragan no more, now can we?" Ichimaru laughed like this was the best joke ever, even going so far as to lean forward and slap his thigh.

Ichimaru's laughter turned into a hiss and a round of profanity bad enough to make Lisa's ears turn red. Then he started pacing again, pain-wracked and glaring at Love as if this were all Love's fault.

"Stupid bastard! What the hell you playin' at? Huh? Sittin' there all helpless and actin' like you're better'n me? Shit!"

A drop of his spittle hit her cheek. Hisagi was full-on staring at them now, horror-struck. She tried to catch his attention without drawing Ichimaru's.

"You lost! We won!" Ichimaru thumped his chest, even though it clearly hurt him. Lisa could still see no sign of a wound. "That means you got no right to sit there an' sass me like that. You hear me?"

Ichimaru was crazier than a shithouse rat. She could see that. Hisagi could see it. His eyes grew wider and wider as Ichimaru ranted.

 _Stop him,_ Lisa mouthed. Hisagi was looking in her direction. He had to see her. He had to. _I can't. You need to stop him._

Even through his anger and grief, Love could tell that things were going south fast. But he didn't know what to do. "I am only doing what my friends' honor demands."

Lisa knew it was as close to a capitulation as Love could get.

"Honor? _Honor_?!" Ichimaru's mouth still turned up at the corners but it was not a smile.

 _Stop him._ Hisagi was looking at her, through her. _Please. Please. You have to._

"Yes, _honor_." Love just couldn't stop. Couldn't help himself. And she couldn't help him.

_Help us._

For a moment, she thought Hisagi would. She saw his eyes narrow, saw him thinking. Ichimaru stopped pacing within range of his grasp.

"Aizen may have turned us into monsters, but there's nothing he can do to take our honor from us. And nothing _you_ can do."

_Please._

Hisagi still seemed to be thinking when Ichimaru drew his sword. His arms were just uncrossed when Ichimaru screamed out something she could barely understand.

Something thin and bright flared towards them, and all at once Love was not there. All she could see out of the corner of her eye was a long, narrow blade. She turned, and there was Love, pushed back several feet to the edge of the sekkiseki stone by the blade that had pierced his throat.

"Shouldn't talk so damn much," Ichimaru chirped.

Love's mouth opened and closed, but nothing came of it but a trickle of blood. Lisa forced herself to look at him, to look him in the eye and will him to understand. She had tried. Did he know that? That she had tried to save him? Did he forgive her?

But there was nothing there--no forgiveness and no understanding--and Ichimaru's zanpakuto pulled free with a slick sound she would hear every night thereafter when she was at the edge of sleep. Love slumped over, hitting the ground with a dull thump, and all Lisa could think was that someone should have been there to catch him.

"Aw, what're you looking at me like that for, sweetness?" Ichimaru's breathing came shallow and fast, as if he were in pain or aroused. He walked up as close as he dared, his toes grazing the edge of the sekkiseki. "You ain't mad at me, are you?"

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself.

She gripped tight to her fear and her rage, and she let them hold her steady when Ichimaru lifted her chin with the tip of her sword. There was a faint sting where the point broke the skin, but it was the trickle of blood down her throat that nearly made her flinch.

When she looked to where Hisagi had been standing, the cowardly bastard was no longer there.

"I asked you a question, darlin'. You ain't mad at me, are you?"

Mad. Furious. Scared. Frantic. "I--"

Her thoughts flew this way and that, and she could not collect them until she asked herself one very simple question:

What would Kyouraku-taichou tell her to do?

She had asked herself the same question over a century ago. Then, as now, the answer was simple.

_Survive. Survive, and remember it's all right to lose a battle if it means winning the war._

Maybe it's what he would have said, or maybe it was only what she imagined what he would have said, but either way, it gave her the clarity of mind she needed.

"What do you want me to be, sir?" she said. It didn't matter that she sounded weak and exhausted. If he thought she was beaten, then all the better. All she needed to do now was hold things together long enough.

However long that was.

The sword pulled away from her chin. "There's a good girl. Like I said, you only need to play nice. Now, let's--"

"Gin, are you being rude to our guests?"

She recognized the voice, even now that it was stripped of all its false deference. Aizen Sousuke walked into the room, growing from child to man as the walls and ceiling drew closer around him.

He'd changed. Changed in ways that went beyond slicking back his hair and getting rid of those dorky glasses. She tried to pinpoint what it was, but the best she could come up with was that there was a _glassiness_ about him. Not like he'd gone shiny, but rather sharper or flatter, like she was seeing him in a mirror or through a pane of crystal.

"Heh. You know how it is, Aizen-taichou." Ichimaru scratched at the back of his head. He sounded like a little boy apologizing for an 'oopsie' that was more cute than damaging. "Y'know I don't like it when people get mouthy."

Aizen just smiled indulgently, and in the aftermath of all that had happened, it was like something out of a nightmare. "Perhaps you should leave this to me for now. Go tell Szayel to send some of his Fraccion to take Ushoda-san to more secure quarters."

"Sure... sure..." Ichimaru took his leave, waving casually over his shoulder. Again, his movements showed a faint hesitation.

"I've already told Hisagi to make sure your quarters were made ready, Yadomaru-san. I'm terribly sorry our reunion had to be under these circumstances. And please accept my apologies on Ichimaru-taichou's behalf. He was badly wounded by Yamamoto-soutaichou's flames, and while we were able to heal the physical burns..." He gave a smooth shrug that suggested he honestly didn't care how well Ichimaru had or had not healed.

"My quarters..." Something was being implied, but Lisa wasn't sure what, other than that she and Hacchi were being separated.

"Yes. I will have a few small tasks for you to perform from time to time, and I may require your assistance with one of our prisoners and your presence at certain occasions, but other than that, I would like for you to think of yourself as my guest. I had hoped I would have more than just you, Yadomaru-san, but alas..." Here, he cast a glance in the direction of Love's body. "Szayel and Mayuri will have to make do with what they have. You, on the other hand, will be spared their attention."

There was an unspoken 'unless.'

"Now, I suggest you pay close attention. You, too, Ushoda-san, as this also concerns you."

And so, Aizen made sure she and Hacchi understood the conditions of their stay, and of their continued safety.

Two days later, one of Szayel's Fraccion unceremoniously hauled Lisa out of her room and out of the first sleep she'd had in those two days. The next hour in Szayel's lab was one she would never forget. She still had a scar down the inside of her left arm and another curving under her belly. After the session, she'd been paraded into some sort of control room, still pale, shaking, and bleeding, and was made to stand in front of a monitor and turn this way and that to show off the fruits of Szayel's labor. She could not see who or what was on the other side, but later Aizen informed her that Ushoda-san sent his deepest apologies and a promise to be better behaved in the future.

Lisa hurt in so many places she wanted to throw up, but she fought a smile all the way back to her quarters. Hacchi had tested their restraints, just as she had known he would.

Just as _she_ had, only her just-unsubtle-enough-to-get-caught snooping the day before had resulted in a simple warning and an almost jokingly polite reminder of the terms of her 'guest' status in Hueco Mundo. She wondered if Aizen knew just how much he had let slip then.

Beyond that, not much had happened. She'd done some exploring, and even though she only managed to explore areas where it was thought she could cause no trouble, she'd managed to learn a lot. She had even been trusted enough to bring food to Inoue Orihime on occasion. The girl only barely showed any sign that she recognized Lisa, and when Lisa tried to cheer her up with a raunchy joke, Orihime didn't even try to smile.

Hisagi remained studiously indifferent to her. Other than passing along orders, he only spoke to her once to let her know that Ichimaru had been sent to Soul Society ostensibly to run things on Aizen's behalf, but that it was exile as much as promotion.

She wasn't sure why he had gone out of his way to tell her that. She hoped it wasn't some sort of sick attempt at an apology, although he did look as if he was waiting for her to say something other than 'whatever.' He started getting noticeably more twitchy sometime after that.

She did commit a few more minor infractions. One was made to look deliberate. Two others were meant to come across as ignorance or negligence. Only on the patently deliberate one was Hacchi's safety even mentioned. The others simply merited confinement to quarters for a few days. She did get dark and hungry looks from Szayel and Mayuri afterwards, though. Szayel was openly eager to continue the tests he had begun, and Mayuri kept making a case that he should be allowed his own turn.

But they weren't allowed to touch her, even though they were sometimes given their pick of the other hostages.

Lisa tried not to think about them too much. Twice, she'd been able to intervene in ways that didn't look like intervention, but that was nothing to congratulate herself about.

One day, when she got out of there, she would allow herself to feel guilty about all of the Fourth Division members she couldn't save.

She would allow herself to think of all the things she might have said differently that would have kept Love from being killed.

She would scream and cry and grieve and break things and get drunk and cry and grieve some more.

But for now, she had to play her games and do everything she could to stay sane and strong. She had to allow herself to miss three things a day and scribble graffiti. She would revisit favorite television shows and manga in her mind as she tried to fall asleep. She had to remind herself that if she went to great lengths to save one person now, that meant she would not be able to save the majority of them later.

As long as she was safe and alive, so was Hacchi. Aizen needed him for something, and needed him cooperative. She was the key to that.

She hoped Hacchi knew she would be okay with being sacrificed if it meant he had the opportunity to defeat Aizen. She hoped he would forgive her if the reverse was true.

She wondered if the Fourth Division would forgive her, if she ever had the opportunity to explain herself.

She tried not to wonder if Love had forgiven her, in the end, for what he had seen as her capitulation. Or if he would forgive her now, for acting all chummy with the man who had stood there and let him be murdered.

It mattered, yes, but she couldn't let it matter more than what she had to do next. Whatever that was.

Whenever it was.

How long had she been here, now? Some of the days seemed eternally long, while others flew by in rapid succession. It could have been her own mind playing traitor, or it could be that time here was just as warped as everything else.

It could have been five minutes or as long as an hour, but they eventually reached the gate to the wilds outside.

"Huh. It's even more boring out there than in here," she said after staring at the wasteland for a while.

"More frightening, too," Hisagi said, squinting against the glare. There was no sign of any patrol.

Then, after she didn't say anything for a while, he finally broke the silence. "You said you were either bored all the time or frightened all of the time, didn't you?"

"Uh... yeah?" She wasn't even sure how long ago she said that. And he remembered it? Now? "Something like that. What's out there that's so frightening? More Hollows?"

"This is the first time you've been out this far?" It was an observation as much as a question.

She shrugged, and squirreled away yet another indication that he hadn't known about her special 'restrictions.' At least they'd let her keep Tonbo with her--a good thing given the run-in she'd had with one of Szayel's ex-Fraccions.

How very odd, she thought, ideas and suspicions slowly falling into place in her mind, that a prisoner should be allowed to keep her weapon. Yes, she had excellent incentive not to go berserk and start slaughtering Arrancar, but it was still odd. She watched as Hisagi kept his eye on the shimmering, wavering horizon. He gripped the top of his scabbard tightly, thumb resting on his zanpakutou's tsuba ready to push it free.

He gave orders, while she did not. He had freedoms that she did not enjoy. But then, she had freedoms that Inoue Orihime did not enjoy, and the cleaners from the Fourth were expected to show her a degree of deference if they encountered her.

"So, where's the patrol?"

"Maybe it hasn't found them yet." Lisa waited, but Hisagi didn't notice his slip. He simply smiled grimly and went on. "Or maybe something else found the patrol."

"It happens," she said cheerfully. The more of Aizen's goons that were taken out by someone else, the fewer she would have to worry about later.

"By now, though, I think they must have gotten away."

 _They._ That was twice now he'd said _they_ , and there was something about the way he kept his eyes on the horizon, and how even though he looked scared and wrung out, there was something else there as well.

One thing she had learned over the years was how not to let it show when she drew a card that meant the difference between a losing hand and one that might just be a winner.

For months, she'd been walking around with nothing but an eight, a nine, and a three in her hand. There was nothing she could do but bluff and wait.

But wait for what? And she certainly couldn't wait another forty years, or a hundred.

She had an opening in front of her. But what should she do with it? _Should_ she do anything with it? Maybe a better chance would come along, a chance she would never see if she jumped at this one.

This could be a trap. But she'd seen Hisagi's state of mind deteriorating steadily. No one was that good of an actor.

"How long have they been gone?" she asked. There might have been a little bit of stress on the pronoun.

He went very, very still. It was an attempt at not giving anything away that gave everything away.

"Not long." He clipped the words off as soon as they were spoken, as if afraid of what else might slip out along with them.

If she made the wrong choice, Hacchi could pay a very high price. She could pay a very high price.

"I see." Lisa still told herself that she needed to be careful. There were so many things that could go wrong.

Trusting Hisagi was a _very_ bad idea. He had let Love die, after all. But how many people had she let die or go on to worse fates?

It was plain that he was about to snap. It could happen at any time. Maybe Aizen had noticed and might lean on him just hard enough to make things go a little faster.

"Do you?" If she didn't know better, she would have sworn she heard something like desperate hope just then. All she had to do was make the offer...

A bluff could end with everyone's pay in her pocket. Or it could wipe her clean for the next month.

"That depends." She looked at him square on, and for the first time, she actually wondered _why_ he had that tattoo on his face. "You thought at all about what would happen if they did get free?"

She had played the discard. The only question was if the new card would be any good.

He didn't answer for a moment. He still wouldn't look her in the eye.

Even if the new card was a good one, the play was going to speed up. It would be fast, chaotic, unpredictable.

She couldn't wait.

"Yes," he finally said. One word, and it said so much.

Or maybe the waiting was getting to her, said the small voice of caution.

"I see." There were so many risks. Too many, maybe. Maybe she had misread things. Maybe he'd rat her out to Aizen. Maybe she should just wait for a better opportunity, but...

Fuck being prudent.

"Hisagi?"

It wasn't like it had done her any good so far.

"Yes, Yadomaru-san?"

She would take the gamble.

"Whatever it is, count me in."


	19. Hinamori, Takano, Ichimaru: Taking The Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plan goes into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section was written by all three of the writers together. While readers do not get any cookies for correct guesses, feel free to guess who wrote which bit anyhow.

**WINTER WAR: HINAMORI, TAKANO, ICHIMARU: TAKING THE BAIT**

  


Earlier that day, Momo told Iba that the whole plan to lure Ichimaru out of Seireitei by dressing Shirogane Mihane up as Rangiku was starting to strike her as a little... well, _silly_. That is, it would have been silly except for... well, except for the whole part where it wasn't really funny at all.

Iba agreed, and then went on to say with a wistful laugh that it kind of reminded him of some of the crazier schemes the Women's Association had come up with over the years.

It was kind of sweet, afterwards, the way he stumbled through an apology and said he was just trying to cheer her up, and crap, he didn't mean to make her get all teary and everything.

He seemed to believe her when she told him it was okay, and really, she _liked_ being reminded of the good times. They needed to remember why they were going through with this crazy scheme, after all. It was just that...

Iba nodded, and said that he missed them, too. He clamped his mouth shut as soon as he said it, then started another frantic apology, clearly terrified she was about to start full-on bawling and not just get a little moist and sniffly.

But Momo just said _thank you_ and _I'd better get going--we have to be ready in less than two hours_ , and she smiled and waved goodbye to him as she went off to meet up with Mihane and Kaede.

She hurried up the stairs, knowing she was in danger of being teased for being late again. There were ten minutes left before they had agreed to meet, but Momo knew the chances were she would get lost. The building they were in reminded her of something in a book Nanao had lent her long ago, a twisty castle full of maze-like corridors and half-hidden closets with delightful and horrible things in them.

Funny, but when she thought of times past, and it was her own thinking, it only made her feel fierce and determined to get those times _back_. Being blindsided, the way she had with Iba...

She jutted her jaw and started taking the stairs two at a time. It was a good thing Iba had accidentally pinpointed that particular weakness. Now that she knew she could be ambushed like that, she would get to work shoring up her defenses. She wasn't going to let anyone--and especially not Ichimaru--have the chance to use her own precious memories against her.

Just look at how she had come so close to... Her face grew hot with shame and she couldn't even bring herself think directly about how she had acted when she heard about Kira being with Ichimaru.

She didn't even want to think about the thought that had danced around in her head for hours afterwards: _If he's with Ichimaru, then Ichimaru must have done something to him. Kira's a good person, I know he is, so that's the only possible explanation. It's not his fault. It can't be._

It didn't strike her until she started to say something to Ikkaku that the words about to come out of her mouth were much too similar to other words she'd said months ago.

She had begged Shiro-kun to spare Aizen's life. She had also not been in her right mind. She knew that, now.

In the end, she became lost in thought and lost in the house, and showed up ten minutes late.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry!" Momo eased the door shut behind her and hurried over with the bag of supplies she'd promised to bring.

"You haven't missed much." Mihane stood in the middle of the room, her arms stuck straight out at her sides as if she were a scarecrow being fitted for a pole. Her top was undone and pulled off her shoulders, but she had left it belted so it pooled around her knees like a skirt. Kaede was trying to wrap a bandage around Mihane's chest but was having some difficulty. "Just our first attempt," she said, ruefully amused.

Kaede giggled. "You shoulda seen it. Minute she started moving around so we could see if it looked real-- _foom_. Half her bustline was at her waist." An evocative hand gesture solidified an already vivid mental image.

"The other half ended up in my armpit," Mihane said.

There was a long pause and it was clearly her turn to fill it, but Momo was still more inclined to introspection than banter. Mihane and Kaede exchanged worried looks, and it became even harder for Momo to say anything and have it not be completely awkward.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked at last.

Mihane looked at her hard, tilting her head and squinting as if she didn't have her glasses on. "Uh, no? That's why we're here?"

"I think she means something else, Mihane-chan." Kaede turned and winked at Momo. "She and me aren't the ones going out and trying to be captured. This time, anyway."

That got a smile. Momo settled down on a hideous blue-upholstered and gold-plated _thing_ with too many curlicues and carved feet that made her suspect it was going to take a walk around the room at any moment.

"You'd think trained shinigami would know that 'small and female' doesn't mean helpless," Momo said. Her smile shifted to something that still didn't quite feel familiar on her face. She wondered if her look could be described as _fierce_ , or if that was just silly of her. "At least they know better now."

"Damn straight!" Kaede piped. "Anyhow, Mihane's ready. And she'll be more ready once we get her dressed up, and oh--crap! This isn't working!"

Kaede stepped back and a length of bandage fluttered to the floor. The wads of rags that had been Mihane's 'breasts' landed in the folds of her top.

"I told you to let me hold the rags in place while you wrap." Mihane's complaint sounded like it had been uttered several times already.

"Nuh-uh. I won't be able to wrap with your arms bent like that. I need a third hand or something. Hey, Momo-chan! C'mere!"

Momo got up, and even though she knew what Kaede was going to ask, there was still something special about the moment when Kaede plunked two huge piles of cloth in her hands and said, "Here. I need you to hold Mihane's tits for her."

And of _course_ the door would open then, and of _course_ Rikichi would be standing right there, gaping, with Iba standing right behind him, grinning like a maniac.

Kaede _eep!_ ed, Mihane went very pale then very red, and Momo simply stalked over to the door, rags still in hand, and struck out with a vicious side kick.

One advantage heavy, wooden western-style doors had over shoji screens was that they slammed shut with a very satisfying _thud_.

The door was not quite heavy enough to muffle Rikichi's sorrowful "ow" or Iba's laughter, however.

Momo walked back to the others, hiking the cloths over her head like victory trophies.

"Honestly, Iba-san should know better, after all the times he and... Well, after all the times he tried to crash Women's Association events."

Hisagi had been his usual partner in crime for that sort of thing. And the two of them often dragged Kira along if they could get him drunk enough. She felt bad for not remembering that earlier, when he had brought up the Women's Association in the first place.

"Oh, I _heard_ about the beach party! Did Unohana-taichou really threaten to neuter Kyouraku-taichou?" Kaede grabbed Momo's wrist and guided her hands and the rags _here_ and _here_ on Mihane's chest. "And I betcha she was sweet as honey when she said it, too..."

"Why would they want to peek, anyhow?" Mihane asked. She was trying to look stoic, but was blushing so hard Momo thought her skin was about to blister. Meanwhile, Kaede was plumping and poking the cloths into shape as Momo held them in place. "It's not like there's anything real to see here."

"I think it's the principle of the thing, really. Iba-san wouldn't feel like a 'manly man' if he didn't at least try to sneak a peek." Momo wondered if their earlier conversation had put the idea in Iba's mind.

"And I suppose the three of us are kinda-sorta the recon squad's Women's Association, aren't we?" Kaede took a few steps back to study her handiwork. Her eye level was just barely above Mihane's chest level, but Momo had to tilt her head to look with intent. Again, it would have been a perfect moment for someone to walk in. "So, yeah, it makes sense he'd peek. You'll have to get him for it later, though. Just 'cause."

"Absolutely," Mihane seconded. She sounded a little too eager, and not in a way that suggested she was eager for vengeance. "And you'll have to let us help."

"Once this is all over." That came out a little more curt than she had intended. "But yes. Definitely. And we'll have to get Nanao-san involved. She can be creative."

She wasn't going to pretend that everything was okay, because it wasn't. But she needed them to know that she was going to _be_ okay.

Sometimes, Momo suspected the people who acted like they were doing all right were the ones who were not all right at all.

"I do wish Nanao-san could be here for this. She'd be good at this kind of thing," Momo said. She wasn't sure if Nanao would be good at it or not, but it would have made this feel even more like old times.

"She scares me," Kaede said.

Mihane pulled her top back up, fiddling with it until it stayed put over her new breasts. "Well, given which division she was in, I bet she'd know how to deal with a peeping tom."

"Oh, that's true! So, so true..." Momo wiped at her eye, and the tear could have been nostalgia, or it could have been genuine mirth. That happened a lot, these days. The reconnaissance squad was given to dark humor, much of it at their own expense. And today, Iba had danced her through some memories that were painful in the delight they had once held.

It hurt, and yet she could laugh. Momo didn't quite understand it, but she did know one thing: _this is how you get better._

They finally got Mihane's cleavage to stay put, but in a way that did move a little bit when she did.

"I'm afraid it will slip if I start running," she said.

"Well, Yoshino will pick you up and carry you when that happens." Ikkaku had suggested him as one of Mihane's escorts. He was burly enough that an observer would immediately peg him as a bodyguard--and strong enough that he could pick up and run with a 'wounded' woman without much trouble. "The running, I mean. And I am afraid it's going to be 'when,' if this whole plan works the way it should."

"Yeah, they'll definitely see through the disguise if we get caught." Mihane pulled a lock of her hair in front of her and squinted at it, cross-eyed. "I guess this looks like the same color as Matsumoto-fukutaichou's hair. Kind of. I haven't cut it in months, but it's still too short."

Momo dug into the bag she'd brought with her. "Nanao-san already thought of that--the hair, I mean--and a few other things."

First to come out of the bag was a long, wide shawl. It was a rich and rosy pink, probably real benibana, given the quality of the silk. They'd found a bolt of the cloth in one of the estate's storerooms, and it was easy enough to cut off a length.

"Put that over your shoulders and wrap yourself like you're cold. That should hide the ends of your hair." Also in the bag was a length of dark red ribbon to wrap the hilt of Mihane's sword. Fortunately her tsuba was of a shape not too different from Haineko's.

The real Haineko had, of course, been buried with her mistress. But the necklace Momo carefully lowered over Mihane's head was Rangiku's.

Momo missed her _so much_. She ran the end of the chain through her fingers under the pretext of setting it just so over the folds of pink silk.

"Almost done." Her voice was rough. "Just one more thing."

She pulled the last item out of the bag. Iba's armband, doctored with what looked like a large bloodstain to obscure part of the flower, and the lower part of the seven's downstroke, turning the flower into something that might have been a daffodil and the number into something that looked more like a ten than a seven.

They could have faked up an armband, but Iba had argued it would take too long, and besides, they didn't want something that would look _new_.

Momo suspected it was more because he needed to feel like he was a part of this mission in some way.

He couldn't do anything about the mission to contact his friend, just like she couldn't do anything to bring down the man who had used and betrayed her.

Throughout the past day, Momo had been thinking that things might have been easier for them if by some magic chance, she and Iba were going to be included in the group going to Hueco Mundo.

"Did Matsumoto-fukutaichou ever say why she wore her badge on her hip like this?" Mihane swiveled this way and that, getting used to the feel of the badge. "Oh, crap! I think things are coming loose!"

"I honestly don't know--she never said. And hmm... hold your arm like this under your chest." Momo illustrated what she meant, giving herself a half-hug across the bottom of her rib cage. "No, your right arm."

"But that's my sword--"

"If this works, you won't be getting within fighting distance." Momo paused, and let the impact of her next words subside within her before she said them. "That's where Rangiku-san was wounded. Right there. I think Ichimaru would have seen it."

At least, she _hoped_ he had. She hoped he had nightmares about it. After all, he deserved to suffer as much as she had. As much, and more.

"Oh." Mihane switched arms and hugged herself tightly.

Momo still remembered the sound of that chunk being torn from Rangiku's side. She remembered thinking that Rangiku had been killed in that instant, and the miracle of hearing that she was alive and would recover if she got proper medical attention.

Momo had put so much trust in that miracle that she did not believe it at first when Isane had come up to them after they had fled to safety and told them that Rangiku had not survived the journey.

It was as if she had died twice.

And now she knew that the Espada whose minions had killed Rangiku was still alive. Grimmjow had said she had Ayasegawa-san following her around like a devoted servant.

She had pointed this out to Ikkaku this morning, right before they sparred. She wasn't sure why, but the words came out like steam rattling the lid of a pot.

So what, he'd said. He'd kill her just the same as he would kill any other damned Espada that crossed his path. And that was it. And did she want to spar, or did she want to stand around yapping?

When she told Iba about her gaffe later on, he got very quiet and his mouth thinned to a tight little line. I see, he'd said. And that was it.

This time, the lid stayed on Momo's words.

"Well, I think that's as good as it gets," Kaede said at last. "Whaddya think, Momo-chan?"

Momo walked around and around, checking Mihane from every angle, squinting to fuzz her out as if she was being seen from a distance. She wouldn't move like Rangiku, but that could be explained away as her being wounded. "Uh, glasses off?"

"Oops!" Mihane fumbled her glasses off and passed them over to Kaede for safekeeping. She looked quite vulnerable without them.

"Are you going to be okay, Mihane-san?"

"Yeah, I think so. Ogidou'll keep me from walking into any trees, right?"

Momo took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant."

Mihane looked puzzled at first, but then she blushed, and her gaze hit the floor.

"We're asking a lot of you," Momo said. This wasn't a Women's Association prank, no matter what she and Iba had said. It was a desperate gambit with as much chance of failure as success, with failure meaning ending up in the hands of a psychopath who would not treat a woman caught pretending to be his lady love with anything resembling kindness.

"You're asking a lot of Ogidou and Yoshino and Newbie, too."

Having one of the Fourth's most recognized officers with the group would sell the idea that 'Rangiku' was wounded. And both he and Yoshino were powerful without having a distinctive 'flavor' to their reiatsu. With three moderately powerful but undistinguished shinigami being deliberately sloppy about hiding their power, it could very well create the illusion of one _very_ powerful--fukutaichou-powerful--shinigami who was perhaps having some difficulty maintaining control over her own reiatsu.

They had thought of everything they could to sell the illusion, but there was no guarantee it would be enough. There was no guarantee that the patrol they encountered wouldn't be a little too fast, a little too smart... Even with Takano keeping an eye on things from cover, it could all go very bad very quickly.

If they didn't have to act so quickly, the whole idea would have been rejected as too risky. But taking Hueco Mundo would mean nothing if they didn't also secure Seireitei, and to do that, they had to get Ichimaru and his best people out and away. There were probably other, better ways to do that, but there was no more time.

"I just want to be sure that you're okay, that's all." She did. She really did. Mihane and Kaede and Yoshino and Takano and even Ogidou.

"I'm not planning on getting myself killed, I promise."

"That's not what I meant," Momo said again, but there was no way to explain what she _did_ mean, any more than she could explain why she'd said what she did to Ikkaku or why she wanted to laugh about old times as much as cry about them.

In the end, she just gave Mihane a hug. She would have broken it off swiftly, but Kaede joined in, nearly knocking them to the ground even as she held Mihane's glasses over her head so they wouldn't get crushed.

\---

Daniel Takano watched and mused.

He was dressed like a forest shadow, a patchwork of dark fabrics that worked well enough as camouflage, and he sat in the dappled shade of a tree and watched everything unfold in good order.

Dan liked order, even though he knew that he was never meant to be a part of it. Never one of the sheep, always one of Those Nasty Sheepdogs with teeth. To those of Japanese descent in the US, he was American, Sansei, without even a decent name. To white Americans he was one of those Coloradan Nips, who had been trusted well enough their farms had been kept by the locals for them when they'd come back from the camps.

When he'd gone 1200 miles away and a mile down to the San Diego Navy, his family had all nodded at this further sign of his aberration. That he had succeeded beyond anyone's expectations for him and gotten into the SEAL program in the Navy was simply a matter that was hushed up at home. A good Japanese boy wouldn't go into the military, but with the sharp, dangerous minds of the SEALs he'd found his real home.

He missed Team Seven's Gamma Squad, missed his commander Bob "Cat" Catalanotto, and most of all he missed his swim buddy Mack Farrow more than he cared to admit. They'd watched each others backs on more missions than he wanted to count. They'd been like two bodies with the same mind, and he wondered now what kind of afterlife Mack had found in that mission gone wrong, and if it was one he'd at least expected.

Dan had never expected this when he'd been deployed from Yokosuka. Never thought an American SEAL would find his way into a Japanese heaven, much less become a Death God. It had seemed the highest of ironies, especially when he'd been assigned to the Seventh Division.

Sometimes he wondered what he'd tell his grandmother if he found her here. He was sure Ikkaku's reconnaissance squad would have simply cemented her feelings about fighting.

As unorganized as Ikkaku's squad was, he was happier with them than he'd been with civilians. He could be effective and it didn't frighten them, and he'd gotten to like their mixed group, once the women had proven themselves. He still wasn't sure about having them there, sometimes. His gut instincts still wanted to protect them, and as much as he could fight it logically and in his head he knew they could take care of themselves, he knew that his reactions were still not all under his control. They were still the sheep _he_ was supposed to protect, even if they had katana that could slice him open in an instant.

He watched poor Shirogane holding her side, walking as quickly as she could, as blind as she was without her glasses. She looked hesitant, hurt to his eyes, and some part of him ached and raged at that. Light gleamed from the necklace about her neck. Yoshino hovered nearby, and Ogidou was smiling so hard, it was a wonder his teeth didn't shatter. They were going slow, and Dan longed for at least a decent radio set with earplugs and a mic.

Gin's folks were a few hundred yards away and closing. Between his ability to sense reiatsu and the incredible amount of noise they were making, he could track those T's well enough. He flashed the Go Slow two-flash signal with a mirror, and Shirogane stumbled.

He moved silently through the trees, avoiding brush and stones and staying in the shadows, and came close enough to identify four members of Misura's patrol. That would be good: Misura had enough balls to actually report this to Gin, not just ignore it. When they started pointing and suddenly stopped to talk, he was able to move clear and flash the Go Fast single flash. Yoshino just about picked Shirogane up and got her going.

Dan heard murmurs from the gathered patrolmen.

"High reiatsu, what do we do?"

"Report it, of course."

"Not chase 'em?"

"We're no match for a fukutaichou."

"But she's hurt."

"And Gin's in love with her, all the more reason not to piss her off."

"Oh. Okay. So we don't have to fight them, just tell Misura-san and he can..."

"He'll get to face Gin."

"Oh, good."

"What d'ya mean good, I like Misura-san, he takes care of us."

"Does that mean we should get her?"

Dan tensed. If they went after Shirogane, he'd play rearguard to buy them enough time to get away, and persuade the patrol their time was better spent telling Gin about the possibility rather than sacrificing themselves.

There was a long pause, then a solid, "No. We're not equipped to take on that much reiatsu. Even if we sent Kano back and all three of us hit 'em, we'd be toast. The information is more important, let's go."

Dan breathed a sigh that was half relief and half disappointment. He'd managed to booby trap part of the path back to the mansion, but Kuukaku had been pretty plain in her language about not revealing their explosive capabilities until The Day. Still, he would have liked to try some of it out. Working with her had been almost like working with his old squad members; as sharp as a razor, fast with improvisations with what they had, and she knew her ordinance inside and out: too bad she hated swimming.

He grinned to himself. He must be making progress, he couldn't quite be sorry she was a woman.

He looped about after the patrol members, and made sure that none of them broke back unexpectedly. When he saw them all headed off to the white walls of Seireitei he left them to circle back to the mansion. The mansion that was now stuffed to the gills with surprises, a lions' den he'd helped build.

Now the fuse was lit.

Takano Dan chuckled to himself. This was the part of the job he always liked best. There was no turning back now, and no use wondering what might have been. As dangerous as it was going to get, he knew himself well enough that he was good at doing what had to be done; and unlike the others, his death was recent enough to remember and he wouldn't mind doing that again, if it meant he could keep his charges safe.

\---

Gin ignored the sweating fool waiting on his knees to be given the final order for the execution. He had a Hell Butterfly stretched between his hands, his fingers delicately holding the upper right and left wings. As its little body jerked backwards and forwards, he could see the wingdust being deposited on his skin in tiny onyx starbursts.

"Always wondered about this," he told Izuru, who was listening like a good boy, his face tilted up as he crouched next to Gin's chair. "But there was always a _budget_ on the things."

It was quiet outside. This was a private execution, not a public one. Gin preferred the public ones, but sometimes people got _ideas_. Either they tried rescues, or the people getting executed made speeches, and the whole thing was bad for morale. Nobles were especially annoying that way. Perhaps they had private tutors who gave them lessons in it.

Not as if _he'd_ know, is it? Not him, not a Rukongai brat like him.

And he tried to avoid executing the useful nobles, the ones who'd cooperate, who'd kneel there and take it in the teeth with a nice big smile and bow their heads and do what they were told. He was building a whole new Seireitei, a new _modality_. That was one of the nice big words Aizen-taichou had taught him, back in the days when he was just a fresh-faced little brat with blood on his sword and a quick grin and Rangiku-chan nearby.

Weird how those days came back to him, more real than life was now.

Course, some nobles weren't going to get any chances. The Kuchiki clan, for one. He'd got maps of their lands all drawn up with dotted lines on them. Just wait, sooner or later he'd find a way of breaking their defenses, or get enough of their neighbours on his side, and then they'd be finding out what it meant to live in Rukongai. Or some of the weaker ones, like Ukitake's house. They were out of his reach for the moment. It wouldn't be that way forever.

But he'd be nice to their kids. He had a lovely plan for a whole new Academy. Aizen-taichou'd be proud of him. He'd make the trip to Hueco Mundo with a whole new group of his own shinigami, and --

The butterfly jerked between his fingers. He pulled.

The wings came off simultaneously. Now wasn't that curious?

He sighed, and brushed the writhing creature off his lap, knocking it to the floor. "All right," he told the waiting subordinate. "You can take --"

The double doors at the far end of his audience chamber swung open, and Misura, one of his more reliable servants, came dashing in and threw himself to his knees.

Well, now that was interesting. Normally they knew better than to disturb him. Might even be kinda important. "You got my attention, Misura," he said, ignoring the other man again. "What's the problem?"

"News, Ichimaru-soutaichou," Misura stammered. "We have news. We think it's about one of the people you want."

Gin rose to his feet. "Right. You'll be telling me this in private." No need to let the whole world hear it. The audience chamber was far too public.

"But, Ichimaru-soutaichou," the other man stammered, "the execution --"

Gin sighed. Couldn't anyone round here do their job? "I didn't order it," he said, nice and pleasantly, "so it ain't going to happen. Put him back in his cell till later. And tell him --" He thought. This sort of thing was important. "Tell him we captured a dozen people from his house trying to rescue him, so we're just torturing them first to get them to talk before we execute him. That oughta give him something to think about."

He prided himself on these little touches. They made life seem so much more interesting to other people.

"C'mon, Misura," he said. "And you, Kira. Let's hear the news."

Five minutes later, in Gin's private study, Misura was spilling it. How one of the patrols had reported seeing a "tall blonde woman, injured, being assisted by two others, a vice-captain's badge, a high level of reiatsu . . ." How the patrol had managed to trace their direction. How they hadn't been moving fast, probably because of the woman's injuries. How . . .

It all blended into a high singing blur in Gin's ears. From a distance, an oddly strange and precise distance, he could see that Misura was trembling where he knelt on the floor. He couldn't for the life of him understand why. He hadn't been so happy in months.

Who else could it be? Weren't as if there were that many women out there who looked anything like his Rangiku-chan. The reiatsu level just made it obvious. She might be trying to hide from him, but it'd all be different once he could explain things to her.

He began to whistle to himself, just imagining the scene. He'd put one arm around her shoulder, and she'd relax into him just the way she used to, and he'd look down into her breasts and say, "Rangiku-chan, this time there ain't nothing that's going to take you away from me --"

Oh wait. Yes. First he had to get her back from the Resistance. Stupid idiots, who'd just been that little bit too stupid. "Misura," he said. "Fetch me the maps of that sector, will ya? And have the men in that squad held for further questioning. I may want to ask a few more questions."

Misura sprang to his feet, a sweat of relief on his forehead. "Yes, Ichimaru-soutaichou!" he gasped, and fled.

"Maps, Ichimaru-sama?" Izuru asked.

He was a sweet boy, but Gin had to admit that when Aizen-taichou had adapted him, it hadn't made him any quicker-thinking. "Maps," Gin explained. "If Rangiku-chan's injured and moving slowly, then they can't have gone far. Odds are she's going to join the rest of the Resistance, not running away from them. After all, if she had been escaping them to be with me, she'd have stayed with my men, right?"

Izuru nodded solemnly. "Yes, Ichimaru-sama," he agreed.

"Which means it's likely that the Resistance has a base in the area," Gin went on. "And there's a few dozen of them, and they've got Ukitake with them, and he was hurt real bad, so they can't just be camping out."

For a moment, he'd enjoyed the thought of Rangiku-chan trying to escape them so she could be with him. It was a shame that it wasn't so. Poor girl, she just had to be deluded, thinking they even had a chance. He'd make sure she understood how things really were, once he had her again. He wouldn't even need Aizen-taichou's help this time.

Misura came running back in again with the maps. He deposited them on the table next to Gin, then went back down on his knees again, hunching in on himself like he was trying to make himself the smallest target possible.

Gin ignored him, and flipped through the maps till he'd found the one he wanted. "So here's where they were," he told Izuru, who was sitting up on his heels to look at it, "and here's the direction she was going in . . ."

He trailed a brush across the map thoughtfully. "And assuming they were going slow, here's about the furthest they could go in a day."

"No villages close to there, Ichimaru-sama," Izuru said, frowning at the map. "It would be a fairly safe area to hide in."

"Good boy, Izuru-kun," Gin agreed, and smiled at the happiness in Izuru's eyes. "And lookie right here. Just _here_." He pointed at a dot on the map. "It's a private estate. Right direction, feasible distance. Misura! Get up and come tell me about this one."

Misura hurried across to look. "That one -- it used to belong to the Nagato family, sir. They were a cadet branch of the Oomeda family. In trade, and an interest in Western goods. That was a private hunting preserve of theirs. They ended up going bankrupt and being absorbed back into the Oomeda family seventy or eighty years ago."

"So that one belongs to their house?" Gin asked.

"Only technically, sir," Misura said. He was real good at this sort of thing. Gin knew he'd been in Eighth and training under Ise Nanao before things . . . changed. He could be trusted to research stuff and get all the facts that Gin might want. "It wasn't close enough to central Seireitei to be any use to the Oomeda family. I believe they tried to sell it off but couldn't find a buyer, and they ended up mostly abandoning it."

Gin could feel himself smiling. "Well, well, well, don't this sound interesting. Misura, go ask that patrol a few more questions, and don't ya stop till you're sure of what they're saying or they get too broken to answer. Then go find me a couple of dozen reliable sorts. We'll be making a little excursion real soon."

Misura was sweating again. He nodded with desperate urgency, then ran from the room.

"Can I come, Ichimaru-sama?" Izuru asked hopefully.

"Course you can," Gin said, and petted his hair. "Don't you go thinking I'd leave you behind, Izuru-kun. You're real important to me."

Izuru blushed sweetly.

"Now you fetch me a Hell Butterfly," Gin instructed.

He had several minutes to plan his message before Izuru returned with the little fluttering creature, still in its cage. He didn't want to sound weak in front of Aizen-taichou. That'd be all sorts of wrong. But he wasn't going to mess things up for want of good men, either. After all, Ukitake might be ill, but he wasn't any sort of slouch, and there were at least a couple of vice-captains with him. Maybe more. It'd be easy to kill them, but Aizen-taichou would be wanting living prisoners. There just weren't enough sorts around who were strong enough to be useful to him.

He took the Hell Butterfly from Izuru, and raised it to his lips. "Aizen-taichou," he said. "I've got a line on Matsumoto and the Resistance, and I'll be heading out real soon to go follow it up. I'd be grateful if you could send a few people my way to help with the job. I'd be real grateful in particular for that experiment of yours who you said was doing so nicely. I'm thinking a little reunion may be just what's needed to tip the scales."

And he wouldn't mind seeing that particular experiment again himself. The very thought made him smile just like he'd smiled when he was a boy.


	20. Ensemble: The Day Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day before the battle begins, and there is much to do--and think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this was written by all three of us.

**Ensemble: The Day Before**

br>

"Goddamn stupid piece of shit lantern... "

Three hours of sleep wasn't much, but it was plenty. Ikkaku had got by on less and been fine the next day. Perfectly fine. Peaches could take her mother-henning and shove it up her ass. He had stuff to do.

Assuming the lantern stayed lit.

"Damn, what the hell exploded in there? Fucking door looks like a hedgehog."

_Creeeak.... Clunk._

"Are you fucking kidding me? A multi-bolt _crossbow_? Sheeee-it. What kinda dumbfuck put it away all cocked and loaded? Smart. Real smart. Now where the fuck is that naginata Kaede said was in here..."

Four-Eyes, Smiley, Yoshino, and Newbie got back okay a while back. Ikkaku thought that shoulda kicked off the whole deal, but no. Only thing it kicked off was a whole bunch of waiting. More waiting. Maybe he should have talked his way onto the expedition, but when he said something Smiley bitched to him that it was boring as hell. They'd found a patrol all right, but the patrol had rabbited back to Seireitei rather than give the group a good fight. No fight, but the head psycho himself should have gotten a nice earful by now. Or now-ish. So that was good.

"Who the hell put this fucking armory together? Squirrels? Can't find a goddamn fucking thing in here, the way it's all fucking thrown together..."

_Clatter. Crash. Thunk. Sproing._

The way their luck was going, Ichimaru might just up and throw the patrol into a Hollow pit or something instead of listening to their story. Punish 'em for being a bunch of stinking cowards, maybe. Damned fox-faced nutjob was cracked enough to do something like that just for shits and giggles.

"Ohhhhh, now _that's_ more like it! Come to papa, baby..."

_Crash._

"Fuckit."

Soon as they got word that Ichimaru took the bait, Ikkaku and the others would light out to the living world. Half a day at most, Soi Fong had said. Twelve miserable hours. Maybe less. Hopefully less. Then they'd be at Urahara Kisuke's place. Should be interesting. And then...

"Ah, screw it! I give up."

He really should get some rest while the getting was good. At least, that's what Peaches kept telling him. But it wasn't like he was Zaraki-taichou, able to fall asleep just like _that_ between one breath and the next. When he was like this, mind spinning and jumping from thought to thought, three hours was the best he could hope for.

Coming to this rat's nest of an armory at the ass-crack of dawn to root around maybe wasn't the best use of his time, but it was a damn sight better than sitting around stewing in his own juices. Besides, giving up wasn't his style.

Another crash, and he finally pulled the promised naginata clear of the jumble of pikes, halberds, polearms, scythes, and lots of other freaky things he didn't know the names of.

It took him a bit longer to find a jutte. It wasn't _exactly_ right, but it was close enough. He had no idea why it was buried in a stack of things that looked like large fishing weights attached to each other by leather braids. He looked at them for a bit, thinking about what kind of damage they'd do if you swung them around then let them go.

Hell, half the armory was full of weird shit like that. The other half was the kind of stuff that glittered and gleamed but that would bend like putty if you were stupid enough to rely on them in a fight. They were weapons you wore because you were rich--or wanted people to think you were rich--not because you were strong.

There was one sword, though, that caught his eye. He couldn't say what it was that drew him. Something about the proportions of it, maybe, or the detail work on the hilt that was ornate but not ridiculous. It was a western-style weapon, double-edged, small and light and vicious as hell.

He propped the naginata and jutte against the wall, and picked up the sword. When he pulled it out of the scabbard, it slid out smoothly, with a whisper of metal against metal that was more soft than harsh. An experimental twirl or two proved it was perfectly balanced even though the hilt was just a little small for his hand. It was a good blade. Strong. Well-forged. Sharp. Gorgeous.

Yumichika would have loved it.

Ikkaku tossed the sword aside. It struck a single spark as it clattered into the darkness. He'd never find it again, in all that junk. Not that he'd want to.

He picked up the two weapons he'd come there to get and headed off to one of the paddocks. Yesterday, after Four-Eyes and the others left, Peaches started in with some bullshit about skipping their usual session on this last day, but Ikkaku told her they'd meet at sunrise, usual place.

They could all sleep later. When they were dead, they could sleep all they fucking liked.

He waited at the paddock. Then he went up and waited by the main house. Then the stables. Then, he started asking around. And so, just as the sky was turning bloody gray at the east, he wrenched open the doors to the root cellar and looked down.

It was all cozy, what with the lanterns and the cots and two of his people playing cards with their prisoner.

"I swear, one time I'm going to check in on you, and you're gonna be braiding each other's hair. You're late, Peaches. You were supposed to meet me by the paddock 'bout now." Ikkaku did his best to loom, but Hinamori cast a pointed glance up the sky before looking back at him, unimpressed.

"You said sunrise. It's barely even dawn." Still, she stood up and stretched. She grinned and shook out her shoulders. "Did you find what you were looking for in the armory?"

He didn't remember telling her he was going there. Whatever. "Kind of, yeah. C'mon."

"You two are going to spar?"

Ikkaku could've sworn that Boy Blue's ears pricked up.

"Yeah. And you're not invited, asshole."

And of course, Sparkles was quick to suggest another 'barehanded combat practice.'

Ikkaku stalked off while they were still making plans, not bothering to wait as Peaches made cheerful farewells and wished Sparkles and Little Boy Blue a good sparring session. She'd either follow or she wouldn't.

She did.

He jerked his head towards one side of the paddock to where he'd propped the naginata and jutte against the fence. He'd hoped to find a sansetsukon or something else close to Hoozukimaru's second released form, but he could spend days in that armory before going through the whole thing.

Hinamori immediately went for the jutte. She picked it up and pouted. "It looks like poor Tobiume lost a prong."

Ikkaku shrugged. "Not my fault you got a weird sword. That work, or you want to go at it with sealed zanpakutou again?"

Out in the field, they could use their shikai whenever they wanted. They were always on the move, so letting slip a bit of reiatsu now and again wasn't any big deal. The way Ikkaku saw it, it drew attention away from Ukitake-taichou so the more they cut loose, the better. And drawing attention to themselves could be _fun_.

But now, drawing attention would be a bad thing. Or so Soi Fong said. So, sealed swords it was, no matter how much Ikkaku wanted to feel a different kind of weapon in his hands.

"Let's use these," she said after thinking it over for a minute. "I don't use Tobiume's released form as a weapon as often as I should."

"Damn straight."

Ikkaku had already checked the naginata, finding it close enough in balance and weight to Hoozukimaru that he was ready to give this a go. He picked it up again and made a few practice thrusts and sweeps, switching it from one hand to the other. He watched as Peaches tried out the jutte, frowning a little at first, then relaxing and settling into things as she shifted her grip closer to the end of the hilt.

"It feels weird, using something that doesn't speak to you," she said. It didn't matter how many of these early morning sparring sessions they had, she never picked up that he didn't feel like being chatty. In fact, the more quiet he stayed, the more she talked, like she was trying to fill in for him. "Does Hoozukimaru talk to you as much as Tobiume talks to me?"

"How the hell would I know that?" He wasn't sure what he'd do if his sword kept butting in all the time. Good thing Hoozukimaru only liked to talk if the two of them were about to jump into a fight. "You and Tetsu ready for Ichimaru's people to drop in?"

Peaches did a few more warmup steps. The motion looked natural enough, and she flowed into a series of moves that didn't look like any kata he recognized. The ways her eyes flicked, he guessed she was practicing moves against opponents who weren't there. He noted the sharp twists of her forearm that suggested some nasty tricks happening with Tobiume's prongs. Good, good...

"We'll be ready soon enough," she said, with a short, sharp flash of smile. "I just hope we're right about Ichimaru himself showing up."

"Got plans for him, huh?" He grinned and shifted into ready position. He'd let her take the offensive this time, just for yucks.

She didn't bite. Not yet anyway. She still seemed to be testing things out with her substitute weapon. If this were a real fight, she'd be in pieces already, and he was half tempted to go after her just to drive that point home.

"They're just ideas right now." She stopped her drills, and actually stood up on tiptoe and stretched full-length, like she was trying to scratch the sky or something. Then, with no warning, she dropped into a crouch.

That's when she took the offensive.

"What about you? Do you have plans for Ayasegawa-san?" She jumped. Her first thrust came in wide, the length of her weapon sliding past. If it was a sword, it would've been a miss, but a quarter twist, and that stupid prong nearly got him right in the crease of his shoulder.

He ducked it. A flick of the wrist as she surged past and the butt-end of the naginata connected hard with her shin.

"Why the fuck would I have _plans_?" he snarled.

She regrouped fast enough, landing without any sign of having been hit. "Because you're going to bring him back, right?" She shouldn't sound so damned cheerful. "You heard what Grimmjow said. He's alive. They've done something to him, but he's alive."

She barely parried his next batch of attacks. Then, before he could do anything more than that, she leapt up and back, landing neatly on one of the paddock rails. "I mean, wouldn't you think--"

"Dammit, Peaches. We're sparring, not having a tea party. More fighting, less talking."

Before he even finished, he lashed out, but she leapt right over his head before he could complete the swipe at her legs.

Time was, she'd have apologized for her chatter. Now, she was on the offensive again, trying to get inside his guard. He nicked her arm, and while she didn't flinch, she did jump back to regroup. She was angry.

"What the hell, Peaches? That was nothing!"

"We don't have that many healers around, and I'm not going to get myself wounded before the battle in a... a silly sparring match!"

"Then fight so you won't _get_ wounded!"

He got her on the defensive for a while after that, but she was fighting like she was looking for just the right opening.

A little cut shouldn't have stopped her.

It wouldn't have stopped Yumichika. Not for a second.

When they used to spar before going on a dangerous mission, it didn't matter if they drew blood. It just got them hot for the main event.

Peaches nearly caught the tip of the naginata in the prong of her jutte, but Ikkaku yanked it up before she could catch and twist. So that's how she was going to play it. He widened his grip. It would slow him down a fraction, but she'd have a bitch of a time getting decent leverage now.

"Where the hell's your mind, Peaches? You're fighting like you ain't really here?" Slash.

"Sorry." Parry.

She was better than this. Lots better. She had never beaten him, but now she could push him to where he really had to work for the win, and it wasn't many people who could do that.

This was pathetic. He should have dragged that blue-haired freak out here instead, got more of a feel for how he would do in a fight. He should have just said yes when Peaches suggested not sparring, and then he wouldn't be dealing with this joke of a fight. He should...

Should, would, could. What-the-fuck-ever.

It should have been Yumichika who got zapped by Inoue and sent back to Soul Society, and not that freak of an ex-hollow. They should have won that fight against Aizen in the first place.

'Should' was just a big pile of horse shit, if you asked him.

What was going to happen was this: he was going to go to Hueco Mundo, and they were going to kill Aizen or die trying. And if he ran into Yumichika, well...

There was something else that should have happened. Something he used to believe _had_ happened.

Yumichika should have died before he let the other side take him prisoner. Before he let them fuck him up to the point where he was swanning after some bitch of an Arrancar.

He'd lost. That much was clear. And here Ikkaku had been assuming that Yumichika would have gone the same way Zaraki did and fukutaichou must have.

Peaches somehow got in a nice shot to his ribs, but he twisted out of the way just in time, clipping her hard with his elbow on his way past.

She made another pass, still trying to catch him with her jutte.

"That move won't do you any good, Peaches."

"Really?" She was treating this like a joke, and he'd had it.

Just to show her, he let her catch his naginata. She tried to twist it out of his hands, but he anticipated it, locking her jutte in place so she could only break free by stepping forward, angling the thing back and putting her in easy grabbing distance. She pressed on, though, even though the point of her weapon was a good eight inches from his face and wouldn't be going any further than that.

"See what I mean?" He'd let her flail for a second or two before disarming her and bringing this joke of a fight to an end.

She stopped struggling, but she held firm. And she smirked.

" _Hajike_."

Eight inches now seemed _real_ close. A sharp circling of his hands, and he had the jutte out of her hands and halfway across the paddock.

"Very nice, but too late, I'm afraid," she said, polite and pleasant, but kind of chilly for all that.

"This was a real fight, Peaches. No tricks. No fancy stuff. By rights, I should have pulled you in."

Her eyebrows drew down sharply, like she was getting ready to haul off and give him an earful, but she forced herself to relax--he could see it happen, bit by bit--before she said anything.

"If we had our real zanpakutou, then by rights you wouldn't have a head right now."

"Pfft. Like you'd ever go through with that." He hiked the naginata over his shoulder. It didn't sit quite right, but that was no surprise. "Get that little papercut I gave you seen to. An' if I don't see you before I take off, good luck."

He started back towards the main house. Maybe he'd go see what Sparkles and Boy Blue were up to.

"You'll be dealing with people who would go through with it!" she called out. "You have no idea what kinds of weapons you'll be facing!"

A flash of his middle finger was all the answer she was going to get on that one. She yelled his name, but he ignored it. At least she wasn't chasing after him.

She _was_ right, but he wasn't about to admit it.

Thing was, her being right didn't matter. He'd learned his lesson--if he was up against some rank and file piece of shit Hollow, he'd watch out for stupid tricks.

The only fight he actually cared about, he wouldn't have to worry about crap like that.

When he found Yumichika, they were going to settle this--end this--the way they would have in the Eleventh. A real fight. A _good_ fight.

Then, maybe, they'd both be at peace.

* * *

The sound of waters was always at the back of his mind, and the touch of waters, the gentle smooth pull of cold waves, the taste of salt in his mouth, as rich as blood, as heady as hot wine.

Yumichika wandered the pale corridors in dream. He seldom woke these days. He slept and he dreamed, and sometimes he dreamed that he was awake and following her, and sometimes he dreamed that he was asleep, and always the sea sounded in the background, great rolling waves far from shore.

It's like being permanently drunk. He hasn't been drunk for years now (I mean, how unsightly, how simply vulgar), even with Ikkaku tipping down jugs of the stuff at his side, and Zaraki-taichou downing _casks_ of it at the head of the table. He'd always been the one to have a few decorous social cups, to share the general entertainment, and then to shoo their vice-captain off to her bed before the furniture got broken any further.

He does remember. He remembers everything. He remembers the battle. He remembers that Fraccion's death. He remembers how it seemed such a good idea to attack that Espada, the one who'd just downed Hitsugaya-taichou, for the battlefield was rife with steam and ice and flames as Yamamoto-soutaichou invoked his own power, and nobody could see him clearly.

"Bloom," he whispered to himself, and giggled a little at the noise that the word made, echoing down the white corridors.

Was this another dream? Yes. The waters ran through him and they washed everything else away.

He had sipped her power, and then drunk it down, swallowed mouthful after mouthful of it, flower after flower, and still it _would not stop_ and it sang in him and rang in him and whispered in him and all the waves came crashing down as finally his flowers fell away and his vines crumpled and she touched his face and said something that he could not hear, and he looked into her deep eyes and shivered at her voice, a boat adrift on her great sea of power.

He has forgotten all other tastes since then. He has seen faces and recognised them -- Aizen, Hisagi, Ichimaru, Kurosaki, Kurotsuchi, the Inoue girl -- but the whisper and flow of the sea has carried all sense and meaning away from them. He is awake when she is with him. He is asleep otherwise, even if he dreams that he stands and walks the corridors, even if he dreams that he speaks with other people.

The ocean is always with him now, and the hunger that moves in it, and anything else is drowned in it, drowned a thousand fathoms deep and far away.

* * *

It took some planning by Nanao to manage a completely coincidental meeting with Momo in the corridor. Fortunately, with everyone running round in all directions, it wasn't too difficult to make it look accidental.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, tucking the book still more neatly under her arm. "Hinamori-kun! How convenient, I was actually looking for you --"

"Is there anything the matter?" Momo asked alertly. There was a sparkle in her eyes these days, and Nanao had to admit that however much she herself would have personally disliked being sent out with Madarame's patrol, it had been good for Momo.

It was quite unimportant that she might herself have liked Momo's company. Really it was.

"Nothing serious," Nanao said reassuringly. "It's just that while Kotetsu-fukutaichou and Shirogane were busy preparing the ambush site, they were clearing out the library there." Clearing out was an euphemism. Nanao had needed to control her wrath and bad language when she saw the mess, the disruption, the sheer wanton _destruction_ of books that could perfectly well have been saved with a little care . . .

. . . well, so perhaps it wasn't the first priority at the moment, but she did have standards.

". . . and I happened to pick up this book," she said, offering the volume tucked under her arm. "It's a copy of the Konjaku Monogatarishu, and we never did get round to reading it before --"

Momo's squeal was very undignified and un-adult and not befitting the dignity of a vice-captain, and Nanao might have even said something about that or just satisfied herself with giving Momo a stern look, but Momo was too busy hugging her for that, squeezing her tight enough to make her wince. Kyouraku-taichou had embraced in that way before, not necessarily in a romantic way or even in a passionate one, just hugging for the comfort of touch and to say _thank you_ and _I care_ . . .

"Momo-kun," Nanao said, a little stifled, "Please. I need to wipe my glasses."

It was only her glasses that needed wiping. Really.

"I look forward to discussing this with you afterwards," Momo said. She was chewing her lower lip a little as well, but her eyes were bright and her words made a promise of it.

"Of course," Nanao said, and that was a promise as well.

* * *

_Pounce now! Bite that! Get in there, idiot!_

Grimmjow snarled at the weird voice inside his own head, even as he had to twist to duck a punch from the slender, tall, and graying Hoshibana Akira. He shouldn't be so goddamned fast, and the fucking human was going for targets Grimmjow had fondly imagined were only for Hollows; and that stupid voice had been coming and going at the weirdest times in just the last day. Annoying.

Another flurry of slaps to his head maddened Grimmjow, and he roared as he threw his whole body after the slender man, who simply fell to the side, and then kicked him hard on the hip. Grimmjow tumbled. He managed to just snag the ankle of the foot that had kicked him, and he dragged the other down with him. He rolled on top, cocked an elbow, and a voice behind him barked, "Stop it, shit for brains. Now."

The laughter inside his own head did not help his state of mind.

"Shit, Ikkaku, what the fuck?"

A slap across the back his head made him jump, whirl to face the other, and widen his stance.

"You wanna take me on?" Ikkaku drawled, but there was something off in the way he said it. Grimmjow didn't like that tone at all.

He let himself narrow his eyes. "Fuck that. I want to go fuck Aizen, not get messed up here."

He saw Ikkaku straighten, those beady eyes flickering to the side and then back to him. Thinking. Grimmjow suddenly realized that he'd made the other guy think instead of just fighting him. He shook himself off, not sure if he was going even crazier; but it felt stupid to fight now when there was going to be the biggest fight of his life coming up. Voices and now being a fucking pacifist. Shit.

Akira sat up, and he gave the man a hand up. "Good reflexes there, Jaggerjack-san," Akira said formally. "It would have been a groin shot if you had not turned your hip into it."

Grimmjow barked a laugh. "So you _were_ trying for that!"

Akira shrugged. "It is effective." He cocked his head. "You hungry?"

Grimmjow shrugged. "Not yet. Just had lunch." He suddenly frowned as both men looked at him. "What? I look like I need feedin' or somethin'?"

"You were ravenous the first few days you were here. It seemed like you were going to go through nearly all our rations within a week, and it is hard to get food even in our base camp," Akira said quietly.

"It is?" Grimmjow blinked. This was just... he swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Hey, you okay?" Ikkaku's voice held more jeering than concern to Grimmjow's ears.

"Yeah... yeah... I'm fine," Grimmjow said roughly. He opened his eyes and walked away from the two men. When he was out of sight, he leaned back against a wall and tried not to completely freak out.

The _presence_ in his head felt like it was curling up against him, purring in a deep rumble. Damnit... that was... that was wrong. What the fuck was something doing in his head? Why the hell wasn't he _hungry_? He'd been hungry so long, so deeply for that to be missing was as disconcerting as not really wanting a fight. Crap. What the fuck was wrong with him?

 _You're whole._ said the amused voice within his own mind. It circled like a cat in a small space. _That is what's wrong with you. You've been hollow for so long, you forgot what it's like to not want._

"But I _like_ fighting!" Grimmjow growled softly.

_Nearly whacked Akira, not like you're shyin' away from fights._

"But I was a wuss with Ikkaku."

 _Hey, no pouncing injured Dragons, kitten. Damned things are liable to bite your head off for real._ The voice was reflective, and Grimmjow could almost see a pink tongue washing a blue paw thoroughly.

"He... what?" Grimmjow, thoroughly confused now, put his head in his hands.

"Who what?"

Grimmjow startled, but managed to refrain from jumping clear to the other side of the yard. He glanced over and saw the lamed Iba standing there looking at him. Grimmjow put on his deepest scowl. "Nothin'."

Iba held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Right. Didn't hear a thing..." He limped off, glancing back at Grimmjow who just sat there.

Grimmjow studied the ground under his ass, half-expecting it to fall away too. The whole thing was crazier than Szayel with a pack of lab rats. Going back into Hueco Mundo without his Arrancar powers, with a bunch of folks that knew next to nothing about surviving under _him_ , and now he had to deal with know-it-all voices and not being hungry to boot. He ran one hand over the muscles and smooth skin of his stomach, where the familiar hole no longer gaped.

Maybe that was as crazy as the rest of it. That moment when he woke up seeing Orihime's face, as triumphant as she was terrified of what she's just done, was just as nuts as this. He should be getting used to it.

_Yeah, that's right. The fun's just startin'._

"Agh!"

* * *

Sasakibe Choujirou had a few hours and no pressing tasks due before he was to depart on the mission to Seireitei with Shiba-san and Soi Fong... taichou?

No, that didn't feel quite right.

The question of her rank bothered and confused him. She had put aside her rank, but she was still his commanding officer on their upcoming mission.

There really was no set protocol for dealing with this sort of situation. And Sasakibe _liked_ set protocol, perhaps now more than ever.

In the end, he told himself, the question of rank was not important. It could be sorted out later. Right now, Soi Fong-san (easier to put the rank aside for now) was the best person to direct the mission to re-take Seireitei.

What was Seireitei like, now? How much of what was familiar would have been destroyed, or changed beyond recognition? It had been less than half a year since they had fled the place, but it seemed like so much longer. Ichimaru struck him as the sort to demolish or desecrate out of sheer spite. What else could you expect from a man who had been quick to re-establish the use of the Hollow-pits, who had taken order and civilization and replaced it with brutality and chaos?

Centuries of hard work, everything that Yamamoto-soutaichou had poured all his strength and will into building, undone so fast...

Sasakibe shook his head, and gave up trying to concentrate on Iba-fukutaichou's supply and logistics report. He already knew what it said: they didn't have enough food, they didn't have enough medicine, and they barely had enough able-bodied to support one mission, let alone three.

He left his makeshift desk and headed towards the mansion's Great Hall, giving himself the excuse that he wanted to check on Takano's progress with the explosives. In truth, he simply wanted another look at the place before it was too late.

Even in half-ruin, it was a compelling sight. He knew many of the others found the place too overwrought and too foreign, but he was unashamedly fascinated by it.

Takano was up on one side of the grand double-stair, working to remove one of the treads so it could be replaced with no sign of tampering. Three other slabs of wood were already stacked at the foot of stairs; he'd been busy. As soon as he heard Sasakibe approach, Takano snapped to attention.

"I don't mean to interrupt, Takano," he said, although he did appreciate the attention to military protocol. "How are things proceeding?"

"Good, sir. The other staircase is already mined, and I've figured out where to place the other explosives." He nodded towards a recess near the entrance. The upper part of the niche held an alabaster nymph, her hands coyly posed in a token attempt at modesty. Beneath her, a bronze basin bulged out from the wall, from floor to waist height. Sasakibe had taken a closer look at it the other day, trying to figure out if the elaborate scene of knights and horses was meant to be something out of Arthurian legend or not.

"I took the cover off. The metal's thinner than you'd think, but the wall behind is solid stone. Anyhow, sir, if I pack it with gravel, reinforce the cover, and set the charges right it'll go off like a claymore when Ichimaru's people come through here."

"Claymore?" The first thing that came to mind was a Scottish broadsword, but Sasakibe suspected that wasn't what Takano meant.

Takano confirmed that suspicion when he described exactly what a claymore mine was, and how the arcing pattern of shrapnel would scythe the ground floor clean of life.

Sasakibe looked at the fountain, and at the nymph, and wondered about the people who had put them in this place. It was a shame to have to turn works of art into weapons, and books into garbage, but this counted as nothing against the need to preserve Soul Society. What was left of it.

And then, how much of Seireitei would they have to destroy, in order to preserve it? How much was already past repair? It wasn't the physical destruction he minded so much as what that meant, and what it said about what they were willing to become in their desperation to survive.

Buildings could be rebuilt. People could not be replaced. Center 46 was gone, as were so many captains, vice-captains, friends, students... How much knowledge was now lost to them forever? How much wisdom? How much talent? How much potential?

How much more would they lose in the days to come?

Sasakibe sighed. "I'd better leave you to your work. Good day, Takano."

"Thank you, sir."

The visit to the Great Hall had not been the mental break he had hoped for. So instead, he went back to the pantry he'd commandeered as an office, and pulled out the small packet of Earl Grey tea Hinamori-fukutaichou had brought back for him. He pondered the gift, and the tradition and civility behind the impulse to bring back souvenirs from a journey even in this time of chaos. After a moment, he opened the packet.

There was enough left for three more cups, and after a few minutes fiddling, there was enough left for two.

He sipped at his tea, and the smell and taste brought him back to a better time. Tonight, he would think about the battle to win back Seireitei, and how they would make those who had taken it pay for all they had done.

Now, though, with the thought of what Seireitei had been so very present in his mind, he took a clean sheet of paper and set to listing all of the many, many things they would need to accomplish if they won.

* * *

Inoue Sora was trying to find a corner to stand in that would be out of everyone's way. He'd been marched in front of the Captains and Vice-Captains by Shiba-sama (who was much, much scarier than her brother) and stared at his own feet while they looked him over and eventually decided that he would do.

He had only just realised that before all this, he really hadn't met anyone with a high level of reiatsu. The instructors at Shiba-sama's place could exert a level of force if they wanted to, but most of the time they were basically normal, a background hum of presence that he'd got used to. Even Shiba Ganju hadn't been so outright unnerving.

Before all this, he'd genuinely thought that he could make a contribution to helping save Orihime-chan. Now he was less sure.

"Here, you, fellow," a strange voice said. He turned to see one of the interchangeable-in-their-black-robes shinigami, a tall one with greying hair and a rigid look to him. "I am Hoshibana Akira of the Sixth Division. I understand that your name is Inoue Sora?"

Sora nodded and made a little bow. "I am, Hoshibana-san. How may I be of assistance to you?"

Hoshibana glanced around the crowded room, and drew Sora back into his corner. "I am one of the people who will be on the--upcoming mission." He gave the words a heavy weight. "I wondered if you had any questions that you wanted to ask, since Ikkaku-san and Ise-fukutaichou are both busy at the moment."

Sora swallowed nervously. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask. Unfortunately, the stupidest one came out first. "Are Ikkaku-san and Ise-fukutaichou always so--so very--so powerful? They've got such strong reiatsu and Ikkaku-san carries himself with such a lot of strength..."

Hoshibana stared at Sora until he managed to stop talking. Finally, Hoshibana said, "Yes, Ikkaku-san is very strong. But the Captains themselves are stronger."

"Yes, Hoshibana-san," Sora said, and folded his hands behind his back. Maybe if he pinched himself hard before speaking, he wouldn't say anything else as stupid. "I know nothing about this mission so far except that we may be going to rescue my sister, and that I may be helpful with that. I would be grateful for anything that Hoshibana-san can tell me about it."

Hoshibana nodded crisply. "Our mission is to attempt to remove Aizen Sousuke, and to rescue any shinigami who may be held captive in Hueco Mundo. And your sister, of course. It is possible that Kuchiki-taichou and Abarai-fukutaichou of my own Division may be captives, so naturally we will be looking for them. I will describe them to you, so that you may be of assistance if we see them."

"Thank you, Hoshibana-san," Sora said. "And, um, I don't really know anything about any of the Captains except hearsay, so if we will be looking for any of the others as well--"

"Of course," Hoshibana said, just a little too quickly and too neatly.

* * *

Since Isane was still busy discussing defences and explosives with Momo and Shiba Kuukaku, Nanao took it on herself to bring Ukitake-taichou's evening tea to his private study.

He had retreated there "just for a few moments, to check our potential dispositions." She suspected it was so he could cough in peace, without everyone looking at him nervously and twitching. She was as guilty of that as anyone else. It was...

...well, it was hard not to care. It was hard not to know what it might mean. And she knew Kyouraku-taichou would have found something to say or do which didn't hurt Ukitake-taichou's feelings, but she still didn't know what it was.

She balanced the tray and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" he called.

Inside he was sitting by the fire again, with a casual robe draped over his shoulders. The trees were shaking in the night wind outside, branches rattling against each other like fingerbones. It was impossible to heat this place well enough, old and decrepit as it was: the room had an implacable coldness and dampness to it that even the fire could not drive away.

"Ise-kun," he said. "Thank you! But you really shouldn't have, you know."

"Kotetsu-fukutaichou is still working on the explosives layout, sir," she said, putting the tray down by his chair. "I saw no reason to interrupt her conversation."

He had never been remotely imperceptive, except by choice or out of kindness. "Is anything the matter?" he asked.

Nanao swallowed. She had expected this, but it didn't make it any easier. "Ukitake-taichou," she said formally, "I am concerned about this. That I may have personal bias, that is. That my personal issues--" She cut herself off at the look of wry amusement in his eyes.

He waited for her to go on.

She folded her arms. "It's important to me, sir," she said. "It matters to me. Because if he is there and he is alive," there was no need to say who the _he_ was, "then there is the possibility that it would affect my conduct of the mission. Even if he ordered me otherwise."

"That is the sort of talk I would expect to hear from a very junior officer in command for the first time," he said briskly. "Not from a vice-captain who knows her job."

Nanao clenched her hands tight on her forearms. "But what if I--" The words came hard to her. "What if I make a mistake? We can't afford any more mistakes."

"Then don't," Ukitake-taichou recommended.

She glared at him. He had turned away to pour some tea, but she knew that he was perfectly well aware of it.

Ukitake-taichou sipped his tea. "Very good," he approved. "Just what I need."

"Ukitake-taichou," she said, and she knew that she sounded plaintive, but for that moment of weakness she couldn't help it. "What should I do?"

He looked up at her again. "What your Captain taught you, Ise-kun. Whatever the situation requires. You are fighting to protect others now--actually, you always have done, haven't you? It has always been that way with you. This time you are going to have to decide on your own, and if you have to sacrifice someone, then that person is going to have to die, however much you love them. But we both know that you will do it. You didn't come here for advice, Nanao. You came here for absolution."

She couldn't stop herself now. She was kneeling by his chair, her head on her hands, choking back the pain in her throat and the wetness in her eyes, and he was stroking the back of her head, just as Kyouraku-taichou would have done, just as her captain would have done.

"It's all right, Nanao," he said gently. "It's all right."

* * *

Isane sighed as she walked into her darkened room. Her hand went to Itegumo's hilt, and she wrapped her hand about the cool, blue wrapped grip. She felt the spirit within her blade stir at the touch.

She settled on the edge of her bed, unsheathing the blade to let it sit on across her palms. She closed her eyes and took that turn within that brought her to her inner world. Mists surrounded her, and she settled on an rock outcropping below a waterfall half-frozen in a crescent of ice above her. Water still fell in thin veils, some of it spraying out as snow, that glittered and wafted down to snow banks by the ice-rimmed stream that ran before her feet.

A pale youth settled by her, eyes the same color as the ice on the edge of the stream.

"Will you draw me when the time comes?" he asked quietly.

She slumped.

He dug a snowball from the bank and threw it into the water. It plopped, splashing water up onto the ice in a pattern of spray that was intricate and beautiful. The pattern froze. He did it again, waiting for her answer, building the ice into layers of lace.

He chuckled after a while. "Well, there's always your kido and the explosives."

Isane nodded at that, but then reached out to grab his wrist before he could dig another snowball out of the snow. "It's not... it's not that I don't trust you."

Itegumo nodded, and turned his cold hand to touch hers. "No, I know that. It's that you don't trust yourself."

She looked up, startled, meeting those glass cool eyes directly. He looked back at her and the look made a lump suddenly form in her throat as tears blurred her vision. Those slender, hard fingers tightened on her own. "You can do it. I know your heart better than anyone, and you know my name. You hold it within you."

She wiped her eyes, met his gaze again and nodded. "Shiba... Shiba-sama..."

"You talked with her about where and what to lay. She liked your suggestions."

Isane nodded again. Shiba-sama had gone over the whole setup with her, piece by piece, wall by wall. She had even put together a small model to show how one explosion would trigger the next, and how the destruction should be amplified by the order and specific size and direction of each charge. Being able to see it in motion had given Isane the same feeling she got when she combined kido spells, getting effects together that were much larger than the two spells separate. With the dynamics flowing through her head, she had asked Shiba-sama questions that had made the fierce woman widen her eyes in surprise.

They had changed three of the charges together according to her suggestions, and now Isane felt she knew what was going to happen.

Shiba-sama had nodded in satisfaction. "Ukitake will trigger all this. Takano can take care of the physical explosives, but I was worried about who or what might happen if anything went wrong with the kido side of this. Ukitake cannot be fast enough."

"Fast enough?" Isane had asked.

"Right. He'd never be able to adjust any of this if it went wrong, he's strong enough, but he just can't move fast enough anymore. You can."

Isane's mouth had gone dry then, but now...

Itegumo grinned, and she found herself smiling back.

"All right... I guess we can, together." The hard, slender hand held hers tightly, and as she came back up out of her inner world, she found that her hand was holding his hilt, just as firmly.

* * *

"Yeah," Kurosaki-kun said. "I wish Zaraki was still alive. Nobody else here _understands_ , you know what I mean?"

Orihime nodded, and poured another cup of wine for him. He drank it as if he had something to prove, swallowing down mouthful after mouthful and then watching her out of the corner of his eyes to see if she was impressed enough.

_"You wish to be of use?" Ulquiorra had asked her. "Then you may. Spend the morning with Kurosaki Ichigo. I have important business to see to, and would rather not be distracted by his constant quarrels."_

Kurosaki-kun seemed to think that having her sit around and listen to him was some sort of trophy or victory. Even his mask (how _does_ he wash behind it, she wondered) was smirking.

"Understands what, Kurosaki-kun?" she asked. She kept her hands folded in her lap, sitting very straight and neat, like a small child.

"Understands what it means to _fight_ ," he snarled. "They all talk shit about how they don't want to fight because they're saving themselves for later, or why do they need to fight when they've already won, or what's the point of fighting because we're on the same side. They don't _get it_. You don't fight for any of that crap. Sure it can be useful when you want some sort of reason for starting a fight, but it's not the real reason for _why_ you fight." His voice rose and fell in uneven bursts, as if his mind was a radio station broadcasting from far away and his body was having trouble receiving it and getting the words out. "Hey, Orihime-chan. You weren't there to see Zaraki when he went down, were you?"

"No, Kurosaki-kun," she agreed. "I wasn't."

"Now that was a proper fight," Kurosaki-kun said, hardly listening to her. "That was someone who really got it. I bet he'd have done it even if Aizen hadn't done that thing to him. You know." He waggled his fingers. "Hey, Orihime-chan, want to hear a secret?"

"Yes, Kurosaki-kun, please." What else could she say?

He leaned in close. "Aizen still hasn't made me see his zanpakutou. That means I'm the only one here he can't hurt with it. The really only one. He's not going to trick me, you know. Some day he's going to give me a proper fight. He promised."

"Yes, Kurosaki-kun," she repeated. "I'm sure he will."

"You should call me Ichigo," he said. He leaned back in his chair and kicked his heels up to prop them on the table. "It's just us now, Orihime-chan. Nobody's going to hear."

She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. He was idly amused, playing with the idea. It wasn't some sort of complicated trap. Maybe it was a genuine moment of closeness.

There was a time in the past when she would have dreamed of hearing him call her _Orihime-chan_ and knowing that he meant it.

"It's like being the prince," she said, "and standing at the bottom of the tower and calling Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair! Except it's the witch instead."

He stared at her. "What does that mean?"

"I was just thinking," she said. "I'm sorry. Except she cries her eyes out in that story, doesn't she?"

He shook his head indulgently. "It's a good thing you have me to look after you, Orihime-chan."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "Kurosaki-kun... do you ever get tired of being here?"

"Of course I do!" he said. He swung his feet down again and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "I want to be out of here, finding some real fights, but no, Aizen wants me here. He says he's got something big coming up." He grinned. Such white teeth he had. "I can't wait."

"It must be so very boring," she agreed, as placatory and desperate as she had been all those years ago at school, trying not to give the bullies any reason to hit her again.

At least Tatsuki wasn't here. Tatsuki was safe.

Kurosaki-kun tilted his head, watching her thoughtfully. "You know, Orihime-chan, I've been missing you lately. You spend all your time with Ulquiorra. It's a good thing that I know you don't really like him."

A dozen conversational pitholes opened up round her, any of them large enough for her to stumble in and break a leg. (And they shoot horses, don't they?) "It's Aizen-sama's orders," she said, keeping her eyes down. This conversation with Kurosaki-kun was the closest connection she'd had with him in months. She had to try and encourage it. The little fragment of hope in her blazed up for him as well. If he could feel, if he could care, if there was something of the real Kurosaki-kun in him still...

He sighed. "I'm going to fight him, you know. Some day. Maybe real soon." His eyes burned at the thought.

"Yes, Kurosaki-kun," she agreed.

* * *

Soi Fong rubbed the stump of her missing arm. Sometimes she still felt phantom aches in wrist and fingers she could no longer stretch. While she had relentlessly trained her reactions and balance to compensate for the missing mass, the motions and counterbalancing she could no longer do, she still missed the freedom of simply having two hands.

She watched those about her, even as she packed, ate, and slipped through the darkened camp on principle. It never hurt to know how things were going, seeing people when they didn't know they were being watched. She wasn't made to coordinate things smoothly the way Sasakibe did, as he gave orders from around the fire.

Her strength lay in finding the pitfalls, and she saw them everywhere.

If Hisagi betrayed them, the whole team to Hueco Mundo would be lost; but that was why she had argued so fiercely that the strike team be small. It would be a small enough loss, for the huge amount of risk. If the mansion had a betrayer among the bait, there would be no diversion of Gin's forces. If the reports from her people were blinds, then there would be no support for anyone they mustered. There might not be anyone to convince.

Then she and her team would simply fade into the city, and their lives would be as hidden as the shadows she emulated. Everyone she had picked were people that could fit into a Clan, have connections in the city, have a place to hide, a place to live.

Their remaining power would be safe if everything else fell to shit.

It was Yoruichi-sama's voice in her mind that asked, "What would they be safe for?"

She remembered how large Yoruichi-sama used to live, the risks that they took together, the things that they had done just for the sake of doing them.

What would they be safe for? She had spent her whole life ready to die as all her siblings had died, fighting for what mattered; and here she was making a back-up plan that was simply to live. How lost she had become. She wondered if nearly dying had brought her to this.

She laughed softly, opened the fingers of her remaining hand as if to let something go.

Sasakibe turned away from the fire at the sound, looking with eyes still dazzled by the light into the darkness. She slipped to his side, and he started and then stilled. "What is it, Ca-- Soi Fong?"

"Do you think we'll be safe tomorrow?"

She saw those chiseled lips frown. "I hope not."

She laughed again, knowing she sounded ironic, but now not caring in the least. "You know, I hope we aren't, either. I hope our fight is as good as theirs."

White teeth flashed in the light from the campfire. "I hope so too."

* * *

Jyuushiro found himself trembling. Luckily, he was now alone in his own rooms with no one to see.

The talk with Ise-kun had drained him more than he liked to admit. He could not dictate what he could not know. She would have to make her own choices, that was what being an officer was all about; and he simply could not show anyone how much this whole enterprise frightened him, and yet... and yet...

He knew he would move forward, just as he had always done. Better to concentrate on the next step forward than the yawning chasm below if all of this did not work. A misplaced step on a stepping stone without solid foundation, and all could end. He knew that Hisagi was that stepping stone for this enterprise, and he wished he found more comfort in that thought.

While he was wishing, he might as well wish the bed was warmer. The sheets were cold and still felt damp, and the size of the mansion made it impossible to heat properly. He finally let himself really miss Shunsui's warm and constant presence. The talk with Ise-kun had finally brought home the possibility, the painful hope. Rather than dwell on the impossible, he forcibly shifted his thoughts: what if Shunsui were one of those being tortured by Aizen? There was ample evidence that Aizen had managed to turn shinigami Hollow: what would the big man be like hollowed out, made to despair?

He huffed a laugh to himself softly as his brain came up blank. The logical side of him could not imagine anything that would make Shunsui give up. Sure, there was much that could turn him sad, make him angry, but... give up? Jyuushiro shook his head, comforted.

He settled into the bed and breathed slowly and evenly, concentrating on each shallow, slow breath. Keeping them even and easy, unclenching his body and his mind from all that lay before them. Gradually he felt his limbs warm under the weight of his covers. Slowly he felt his lungs relax a little and release some of his own tension.

Tomorrow would be. He would do what was in front of him. The rest could wait until they actually hit bottom, or it was all done and they had won through to the other side.

* * *

"You're planning something," Yoruichi said.

"Of course I am," Kisuke agreed. The bedroom door was locked, which cut down on the odds of the conversation being overheard by Tessai, Ururu, Jinta, Mashiro, Kensei, or Rose, but didn't make it certain by a long stretch of the imagination. None of them would hesitate to listen at doors, and half of them would consider it their duty (or at least a survival necessity) to do so.

"I mean, something that you're not telling me," Yoruichi clarified. "Which has happened before. And that didn't go very well either, did it?"

The events of a hundred years ago were something which they didn't discuss, by mutual agreement and mutual silence. Once the blame had been settled and the shouting had died down, Kisuke had got on with his work and his research, and Yoruichi had... well, she was even better at keeping secrets than he was. Sometimes she'd mentioned the places she'd been, or the things she'd done, but most of the time she would simply smile at him and tilt her head, with her familiar cat-smooth expression of satisfaction.

One thing he did know, and it lay like a fascinating peppered candy at the bottom of his mind. She wouldn't let him get away with anything like that again. She had been his Captain, once. She still had an inexplicable, illogical feeling of responsibility towards him. (He didn't understand it at all, but then he'd never claimed to care about Hiyori-kun in that way.) If he went too far, then she'd stop him.

Which just meant that he'd have to be very, very careful if he ever did consider going a little bit too far.

But what was the definition of too far? Exploration was where one started, and it never ended. There was always something more to learn, another stone to turn over, another window to open, another path to take. He didn't want the knowledge for power's sake, as Aizen Sousuke did. He wanted it... _because_. He understood Kurotsuchi Mayuri, he understood him very well, and when it came down to it, he knew in his gut that the only thing which stood between him and some of Mayuri's experiments was the fact that he _liked_ people. And he liked to be liked.

There was something very erotic about lying in the arms of a woman who would (and could) kill you if she thought she had to. He should recommend it to any other Captains he met.

Everyone did what they thought they had to. If more people realised this and accepted it, the world would be a more comfortable easier place, or at least would involve fewer apologies on his part.

Words were such easy coinage. Lies were such easy tools. And yet people believed them. And yet people believed him.

"I'm thinking," he said, and let her stroke his back. "Don't worry. I'd tell you first."

"Liar," she said affectionately.

But she shouldn't worry so much. This time he knew what he was doing, and he knew who his opponents were, and he knew what the stakes were.

He wasn't a vengeful man. Heavens, no.

But some debts were overdue payment.  



	21. Nanao: Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cellars, tea, and gates all the way down to where the wild things are. -- by incandescens

**NANAO: GOING DOWN**

  


Nanao was prepared to admit that it was a very impressive cellar.

She had taken half a step back to look around the place. Madarame was handling the important details such as striding up and down, complaining about how long everything was taking, asking for the seventh time if Urahara had any ideas about where this gate of his would open, and ogling Shihouin Yoruichi out of the corner of one eye with a combined 'what a woman' and 'what a fighter' expression.

What Nanao would really have liked to do would be to approach Tsukabishi Tessai -- in a properly respectful manner, of course -- to ask him a few questions about kidou. Research applications. Constructs. That sort of thing. Why, the man was a legend. She could see his touch all over the place, in everything from the dimensions and wards on the cellar to the Gate that he and Urahara were currently working on. There were so many things she'd like to talk to him about. Perhaps, just perhaps, he might even consider her something of an . . . well, not an equal, of course, but someone else whose opinions on the subject were worthy of respect, and . . .

She chewed on her lower lip and forced herself to remember the current situation. She was just as tense as Madarame was. Daydreaming like this wasn't doing anything except making her feel a little better.

Inoue Sora was standing rigidly to attention, still looking uncomfortable in his new shinigami uniform. Of all of them, he was the least suited to be going down to Hueco Mundo and into battle. The fact that he was probably the sort of person who would try to infiltrate the place solo to rescue his sister was quite beside the point. She hoped, in an academic and distant way, that they would be able to keep him alive once the real fighting started.

Hoshibana Akira, in contrast, stood at parade ease, making the posture look dignified and graceful as opposed to Inoue Sora's stiff-shouldered discomfort. Ogidou stood next to him with folded arms, surveying the area with a gentle smile, fingers tapping the side of his arm thoughtfully.

Their new ally wasn't bothering to stand. Earlier he'd been pacing, just like Madarame (she supposed that she could call him Ikkaku, he was certainly informal enough not to care, but she had only been that close to a few people and he was not one of them), but now he was sprawled on his belly on the ground, chin propped on his elbows, heavy-lidded eyes staring in the direction of the Gate but not actually watching it. He was wearing his white Arrancar clothing again, and you couldn't even see the lack of a hole in this position. He might almost still have been an Espada . . .

. . . no. Not if you really looked at him. He was strong, certainly, but his reiatsu wasn't a Hollow's reiatsu any more.

(When they were at the Academy, they had been taught that they would be able to recognise a Hollow's reiatsu when they felt it. How do we know what it will be like, the students had asked. You'll know, the teachers said. Because Hollow reiatsu was always hunger-tainted, and the stronger it was, the more desperate it was. A Captain's reiatsu could pin you to the ground like the weight of a mountain, or the heat of a volcano, but a powerful Hollow's reiatsu held you like the suction of a whirlpool, or drew on you like a whirlwind, and the gnawing emptiness at its centre flavoured every pulse of its strength.)

Grimmjow's reiatsu was centered and full, powerful but ragged, like a tree in a windstorm with all its leaves and branches dragged awry. A single touch on that reiatsu and nobody in Hueco Mundo could possibly believe that he was an Arrancar, which would no doubt be a problem when they got there, but for the moment she found it a comfort. She had enough things to worry her as it was, without feeling a Hollow's constant gnawing hunger at her back.

Urahara turned away from the Gate construction, leaving Tsukabishi Tessai still working on it, and strolled across to their group. Nanao suppressed a momentary twitch of annoyance that it couldn't have been the other way round, and adjusted her glasses defensively.

"Well now!" Urahara announced, smiling brilliantly. "Everything seems to be under control, and we've got the basic kidou structure up and ready. The moment that Yoruichi gets word from Soifon that Ichimaru's made his move, we'll have the Gate running and you'll be through in a heartbeat. Or two. Certainly not more than three."

"How long do you think it's going to be?" Madarame demanded again. "We've been here hours already. We can't afford to waste any more damn time. What the fuck's Ichimaru doing, anyhow? Stopping for choir practice?"

"It could be a good sign," Nanao said, trying to sound hopeful. "We know from Soifon-taichou's men that his grip on Seireitei is tenuous. If he's already pulling in his most loyal men to stage a raid, then he has to leave someone else in charge in his absence. You've seen the reports on how paranoid he is, Madarame. He's not the sort to leave his back undefended. I don't think he ever has been," she added thoughtfully.

Urahara nodded. Nanao almost wished that he wasn't agreeing with her. "Perfectly sound reasoning. In a way, it's positive news. The more people he strips from Seireitei, the easier the job is for Shiba-san and her group. And if it draws away some of the forces in Hueco Mundo -- well, all the better."

He must have caught the way that Nanao's lips pressed together at that thought, for he flashed a smile in her direction. "I've known Ukitake-taichou for a while, Ise-fukutaichou. I'd back him against Ichimaru and any number of followers, with or without injuries. And with the rest of your people helping him, well, Ichimaru thinks he's a smart fellow." He tipped his hat back and grinned with a bright bland merriment. "The problem with thinking you're a smart fellow in that way, just between the few of us, is that you can have an awfully unpleasant surprise when someone else does something clever."

Grimmjow looked up at Urahara, curling his feet under him. "You're the one they've been talking about," he said. "The one they say is a hot shit expert on weirdness."

Urahara doffed his hat and bowed. "Urahara Kisuke, at your service," he said. "Any particular sort of weirdness?"

Grimmjow turned to look at them -- Madarame, Nanao, the other shinigami -- and then back to Urahara. "Yeah. I just want a word about something. And since it's got nothing to do with where we're about to be going, I don't see any reason why this lot have to hear it."

"And why shouldn't we hear it?" Madarame demanded, his hands on his hips balling into fists. "Is there some sort of reason why we shouldn't?"

Nanao would have liked to knock their heads together, but that seemed impolite, not to mention impossible. Besides, they were already trusting Urahara, weren't they? Surely he'd be able to handle Grimmjow if the man tried anything stupid. And right here and now, on the verge of going down into Hueco Mundo, was not the time to start Grimmjow sulking, or to have him and Madarame squaring off for a fight. "Maybe it's a medical problem," she said.

"As a member of Fourth Division, I would be glad to --" Ogidou started from behind her.

Nanao turned and gave him her coldest stare. He shut up. She turned back to the others. "Maybe it's a _medical problem_ ," she said again, locking eyes with Madarame.

"Fuck this for a game of soldiers," Madarame muttered, and kicked at the ground. "Fine, sure, go huddle in corners, see if I care, just don't go getting your head stuck up your fucking ass when we need to be going through that gate, all right?"

"That's very helpful of you," Urahara said. "Thank you for understanding this gentleman's situation! Why don't you go and have some tea? I think my two young assistants over there have brought some."

Two children -- at least, they looked like children -- were just coming down the stairs into the cavern. The one that looked like a girl was carrying a tray far too big for her, while the one that looked like a boy was following behind her and scolding her continuously. Behind them were a man and a woman -- and now that Nanao looked at them, they were distinctly familiar.

"That's Muguruma-taichou," she said, hardly aware that she was speaking. "Muguruma-taichou as was, before he went missing, and Kuna-fukutaichou. I knew they were here, but --"

"But you want to speak with them yourself," Urahara said, making broad sweeping motions with his fan. "I'm sure you all do. Have a nice chat, catch up on the gossip, strategise, all that sort of thing, while I have a little talk with our honoured guest. Excellent idea, I thoroughly approve, have some tea, thank you very much . . ."

"Hey," Madarame muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they walked away, leaving Urahara sitting down next to Grimmjow. "Wouldn't it have made more sense for _them_ to go somewhere else for their private chat?"

Nanao sighed. "Yes, it would, but is it really worth pressing the point?" A moment's thought made her add, "Thank you for letting Grimmjow have his way. I'm not really any happier about it than you are, but we'll be wanting his full cooperation very soon."

Madarame kicked more dirt up, and rubbed the back of his head. "Aw, not a problem. He probably just wants to ask Urahara 'bout how he can get himself fixed again. Can't say I really blame him. He just wants to be able to fight like he used to."

Nanao would have liked to say _I'm sure you understand that_ , with a meaningful eye roll to show that she included the entirety of Eleventh in the comment, but she decided, again, to err in the direction of tact. They were all on edge, and she wasn't going to be the one who made it worse. Of course he was spoiling for a fight. She simply nodded.

Kuna-fukutaichou was shifting from foot to foot as they approached, a febrile excitement in her eyes. "I wish I could be going with you," was the first thing she said. "Of course Urahara-san says that it'd be just too risky, but I can't help thinking that some risks need to be taken, if you know what I mean? Come to think of it, if you were to actually _tell_ him that I'm going with you --"

Muguruma-taichou rapped her casually across the back of the head. "We've been through this before, idiot. You'd be a liability. Like me." His tone was very sour. He looked the group over. "So you're the ones they're sending."

"Yeah," Madarame said. "You got a problem with that?"

Muguruma-taichou snorted. "Problem, no. You're all still alive, after all. That tells me something about your abilities. But when it comes to sending you into Hueco Mundo like this --"

"Tea," the little girl said, shoving a cup of it at him.

"I'm talking to these people," Muguruma snapped.

"Tea," the girl said again. "You must have tea."

"Is it a special tea?" Nanao asked curiously.

The girl blinked, oriented on her, and turned to walk towards her, still holding the cup. "You must have tea," she said very seriously.

Nanao seriously thought of backing away from the advancing teacup, but decided it would be unseemly in front of subordinates. "Is there something odd about the tea?" she hissed at Muguruma-taichou.

"No," Muguruma-taichou said firmly. "Just go ahead and drink it."

Nanao took the cup suspiciously and sniffed it. The little girl stood there, watching her with huge dark melancholy eyes, clearly waiting for her to taste the stuff.

It smelt like normal green tea.

Everyone was watching her.

She had to be firm and resolute. She took a sip.

She started choking.

"Yeah," Muguruma-taichou said, "I thought so." He leaned over awkwardly so that he was eye to eye with the girl. "Look, kid, you _don't_ want to take the tea from Tessai's stock. It's always out of date."

"But he said that it's much cheaper that way," the girl droned, "and that we have to keep the expenses down, and --"

Kuna-fukutaichou took the cup off Nanao and patted her on the back. "You really look like someone I've seen before," she said thoughtfully. "Did we ever meet back then? It'd have been a hundred years ago, you know. Did we go shopping or anything?"

Nanao adjusted her glasses defensively. There was an obvious answer to this question, but it almost hurt to give it. "Perhaps you're thinking of Yadomaru-fukutaichou," she said. "I've been told I look a little bit like her."

"Oh, of course!" Kuna-fukutaichou said. She giggled. "I'm so forgetful. Yes, you've got glasses just like her! That must be it. We've been told she's in Hueco Mundo, so if you run into her down there you absolutely must tell her that we're all thinking about her." She picked at the heavy bracelet round one wrist distractedly, as if it was itching. "And you know, I've been putting some manga by for her, all her favourite series, because she'll have been missing them. I do wish I was going to Hueco Mundo with you. Maybe if you ask Kensei, he'll let me come as well. I don't see why he can't come too. It was only a leg, and it's not as if he was hurt as badly as Rose was. Have you met Rose?"

"Rose?" Nanao said blankly.

"Otoribashi Rojuro," Muguruma-taichou said curtly. "Mashiro, we need some more tea. Go help the kids get it, will you?"

"Of course, Captain!" the woman chirped. She led the girl and the sulky-looking boy back inside at a brisk trot.

Muguruma-taichou was scowling. "We all got injured," he said. "Or we'd be there with you. I don't like this any more than you do."

Somehow that seemed to penetrate to Madarame. "Yeah," he said, and sighed. "Point taken."

There was a question that Nanao wanted to ask. She wished that there weren't so many people listening in, but it wasn't as if she could ask them to walk away in yet _another_ direction. The cavern would start running out of corners to have private conversations in at that rate. "Muguruma-taichou," she started uncertainly, then wished she hadn't called him _captain_ as he glared at her. "Sir -- how is Yadomaru-fukutaichou? That is, when you last saw her --" Oh dear, she just couldn't say the right thing.

Muguruma-taichou frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. "Probably about as good as can be expected, if she's a prisoner down there. You knew her, right?"

"I was younger," Nanao said. "Very much younger." _And she was everything I wanted to be._ "I'd be surprised if she remembered me."

That was a lie, of course. She was sure that Lisa must remember her. It might have been a hundred years ago, but wouldn't Yadomaru-fukutaichou remember that little girl she used to read to? Shouldn't she?

Muguruma-taichou shrugged. "Eh. If she does remember you, it'll be that much easier to get her to cooperate. I mean, how do you think she's going to react if you show up there just like that?"

Madarame rubbed at his head. "Well, fuck, I was hoping she'd do a 'here come the big damn heroes, let me cooperate'. You're telling me she's going to be awkward?"

"Aizen's a twisty bastard," Muguruma-taichou said, with what was probably patience for him. "Sure, she might think that you're backup at first, but she's going to wonder if you're some sort of trick of his to test her loyalty."

"You sound like you know a lot about how Aizen thinks," Madarame said suspiciously.

Muguruma-taichou sighed. "Look, for one hundred damn years we've had nothing to talk about but why the hell he did what he did. You know what we do on rainy days? We try to work out what the hell he was thinking. You know what we do when the newspaper's got lost? We try to work out what the hell he was up to. You know what we do when the baseball's late?"

"Or if the Hanshin Tigers are losing?" Kuna-fukutaichou said, reappearing with a new tray of teacups. She jittered from foot to foot, somehow not quite spilling the cups. The light danced on the surface of the liquid.

"It's just a temporary streak," Muguruma-taichou snarled, grabbing one of the cups. "Wait and see, they'll be back in the league any day now."

Nanao pondered the possibilities of getting Eleventh Division interested in professional sports rather than all-out maiming (their usual favourite pasttime), and came to the depressing conclusion that they'd probably just declare all-out maiming a professional sport. This degenerated into images of Zaraki-taichou using Yachiru as a baseball. She sipped her tea -- drinkable, this time -- and decided that she needed a vacation.

A pity there was absolutely no possibility of that in the near future.

And there she was, letting herself get diverted from the current situation again. Avoiding the subject. Thinking of anything else. She had no right to blame Madarame for wanting to pick an argument, no right at all.

"Mind, I was as surprised as anyone else to hear she was still alive," Muguruma-taichou said. He sipped the tea cautiously. "The way things had ended up, we thought that the others were dead. Never figured Aizen would be taking prisoners."

"Hardly surprising," Urahara said, stepping up from nowhere in particular to take a teacup for himself. "The situation for the Gotei 13 was much the same, I believe. After Yamamoto-soutaichou loosed that strike on the battlefield -- well." He gestured expressively. "And things were already confused enough beforehand. It was a rational assumption that anyone still there would have died instantly. And that there wouldn't be any bodies left to retrieve."

"Yes," Nanao said, working to keep her voice neutral, wishing that he would just _go away_.

He patted her on the shoulder, and she glared at his hand and wished that she could make it spontaneously combust. "You shouldn't blame yourself, Ise-fukutaichou. Besides, things may not be as bad as they've seemed, right? Now that we know that Aizen has prisoners --"

"We still don't know what is in his private area," Nanao said quickly. Some possibilities she didn't want to think about. She'd deal with events as and when she had to, but she wasn't going to waste her time on fears that might be useless -- or, worse, might be justified. "For all we know, they might be powerful Hollows that he's working on, trying to create new Espada." She didn't believe that, but at least saying it was better than letting Urahara try to be _sympathetic_ at her.

"And we know they ain't Zaraki-taichou," Madarame put in, "'cause we know he's dead."

"Ah yes," Urahara said. "We have Kotetsu-fukutaichou's eye-witness testimony for that, don't we." He let that hang in the air for just a moment too long, to remind everyone of how much eye-witness testimony was worth at the moment, then went on before Madarame could actually form a reply. "I wanted to check a couple of points about the plan, if I may."

"Of course," Nanao said. She was aware of the rest of the team gathering round her and Madarame, and the sudden rise in attention.

Hoshibana had been giving everyone frosty looks for the last few minutes, even if he thought he was hiding it: maybe he'd expected better from the secret hideout of two ex-Captains. While Nanao herself would have expected a _little_ better, long experience in Eighth had given her experience in tolerating apparent disorder which Hoshibana apparently lacked. Inoue Sora was being very quiet, and very attentive, and very tense. Ogidou was just smiling, a sparkling happy smile which, Nanao had to admit, did not make her entirely comfortable. It reminded her a little too much of Ichimaru Gin on a sunny day.

"Firstly." Urahara held up a finger. "How do you plan to kill Aizen?"

There was a painfully long silence.

"We're hoping that Hisagi's got some ideas on that one," Madarame said. "The way I understood his message, he's got some sort of plan in mind, but he couldn't tell it to Boy Blue here --"

Grimmjow growled deep in his throat.

"-- or to the Yasutora kid," Madarame went on, looking that much happier for having managed to annoy someone. "So once we get to him, we can hear what he's got to say and consider our options. It also depends on if we manage to get Kurosaki's head round the right way again." He made descriptive screwing motions with the hand that wasn't holding a cup of tea. "And on who else we can find. Maybe including Yadomaru. We'll have to see."

Nanao nodded. "We plan on being flexible," she said.

"And of course there is the possibility of rescuing some of the Captains," Hoshibana added. He didn't actually say _who will of course then take over the command_ , but it was hardly necessary. Nanao suspected that he hadn't considered some of the less appealing possibilities.

She couldn't really blame him. She didn't want to consider them herself. But she and Madarame were in command, and it was their job to recognise that the world might not turn out in the way that they hoped it would.

"Of course," she said. "But otherwise, that is where we stand for the moment. Have you anything to suggest?"

Urahara shook his head. "If I did, I'd have done so by now, Ise-fukutaichou. For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. You can't know what the situation is till you get there. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy, and so on."

Madarame nodded. "Fuck it," he said (and Hoshibana suppressed a twitch), "I'd _like_ to have a good plan before we go down there. But we don't know what we're going to find. We'll just have to go in slick and smooth and kick ass before they realise how much they're hanging out of their pants."

"Yeah," Grimmjow agreed. "The less time we waste the better. Nothing _wrong_ with using the element of surprise, right?" He glared round at everyone, as if expecting them to suggest something was wrong with him for thinking it.

"Of course not," Urahara agreed. "However, let's assume that things actually go well, and you need to get back. Soifon-taichou suggested that we arrange some sort of message?"

Nanao nodded. "Ukitake-taichou discussed this," she said, and ignored Madarame, who was apparently trying and failing to remember what had been said. "It'd be far too easy for Aizen to counterfeit an open message from us and try to get you to open a gate through to him so that he could launch an attack. He suggested some sort of code word or words to make it clear that it's one of our group."

Urahara rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "And perhaps another code word, to make it clear that any message that goes with it is false and should be disbelieved, mm?"

"But why should we -- oh," Madarame said, thinking it through. "Right. So what do you want for the words?"

"Mm," Urahara said. "If the mission was a success, then the word is chrysanthemum. If the mission's having problems and you need a gate to escape by as fast as possible, then the word is thistle. And if the mission has failed and you're being forced to send the message, and we should automatically disbelieve what you say and write you off . . ." He shrugged. "Then the word is lily of the valley."

"Fucking flowers," Grimmjow snarled.

It only took a moment for Nanao to catch Urahara's reference. The flower symbols for the Gotei 13. Chrysanthemum for First Division, thistle for Twelfth, lily of the valley for Fifth. She glanced sideways at Madarame and the others, and saw that they knew it too. Even Muguruma-taichou had winced a little.

"That will do," she said crisply, and hoped that her voice was steady. "Does everyone have that?"

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the others.

"And as soon as I get a message," Urahara said cheerfully, "I'll use it to pinpoint your coordinates and drop a gate to where you are - we'll have kept the one here on standby, so we should be able to get it running again fast if you need it." He looked round at them all. "There isn't much I can say, is there? I won't go telling you to be brave or to be clever. There isn't much point in saying the obvious, however much I enjoy it . . . oh, yes. Try to be lucky. That's it. We could all use a bit of that."

"And tell Yadomaru Lisa to get off her arse and back on the job," Muguruma-taichou growled. "I need someone else up here to talk sense to."

"I'm hurt, truly hurt," Urahara said, waving his fan at Muguruma-taichou. "But now, if we --"

He stopped and turned, as if he'd heard something that the rest of them couldn't. Shihouin Yoruichi was sitting bolt upright, head cocked in a gesture of listening. Then she nodded briefly to the air, and a moment later she was standing next to the group, having passed across the cellar so swiftly that Nanao hadn't even been able to see the start of her movement.

"Do we have news?" Urahara asked. He'd stopped playing with his fan.

"Ichimaru's moved," Shihouin Yoruichi said. "Our agent inside Seireitei has just confirmed it to both Soifon and me. The message was coded to prevent interception: we only know that he has both shinigami and Arrancar with him. But he left the walls two minutes ago. Soifon's moving. Time to open the gate."

Nanao swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry, and put her cup down on the tray that the little girl was still holding. "Thank you," she said to the child, nodded to Muguruma-taichou and Kuna-fukutaichou, then turned to her team. "Moving out now, gentlemen."

"Make sure you've got your zanpakutou, people," Madarame said. "Wouldn't want to have to go back to fetch them." They were both walking together, with Grimmjow a tense pace ahead, and the others following them, across to the Gate. Tsukabishi was feeding more energy into it now, and a faint shimmer of light had begun to ripple between the pillars and lintel, like oil on water or light on the surface of a moving stream.

Nanao kept her shoulders straight and her pace even. Half of her wanted to rush forward and throw herself through the gate, and into danger or darkness or whatever lay beyond: to find Kyouraku-taichou, or to stop Aizen, or perhaps just to have it done with and the waiting over. The other half would have preferred to stay behind, or to do anything other than the blatantly, _obviously_ stupid thing of going into the depths of Hueco Mundo, facing the Hollows in their own home, and confronting the greatest enemy that Soul Society had ever fought.

This time she wasn't following Kyouraku-taichou, one step behind him, her head not even level with his shoulder, conscious of his reiatsu, his presence, and even his consciousness of her. This time she was in joint command, and everything was different, and if they failed, there would be no rescue.

With a little private click of her tongue, she put such thoughts out of her mind. She had always felt that a person should get things right the _first_ time. Then they wouldn't need rescuing.

Urahara flicked across to stand next to the pillar opposite from Tsukabishi, and put his hand against it. More power began to flow into the Gate. It stabilised, and the rippling sheets of power drew apart from each other to become a hole in space, a devouring rip with serrated edges like jaws that seemed to tear at the air, an opening on darkness.

Madarame glanced sideways to Nanao, and she caught his message in the jerk of his head towards Grimmjow. _We need to go through first._

She nodded in response, and quickened her pace to match Madarame's step.

They passed through the Gate together, and the last thing she heard was Grimmjow snarling, "Hey, you bastards, wait for me --"

And then they were in a place of white corridors, and paved floors where the cracks were black with old bloodstains, and a dreadful hungry silence.

\---  



	22. Hisagi: In too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, Hisagi Shuuhei was one of the most honorable and dependable officers in the Gotei 13. 
> 
> Times have changed. 
> 
> \-- by Sophia_Prester

**Hisagi: In Too Deep**

  


It would be any moment now.

Or never.

He didn't know which possibility he feared more.

Shuuhei closed his eyes for the count of three breaths and tried to will the thought aside; what was done could not be undone.

Still, he stood atop the gate into Las Noches and waited. Nothing happened. Nothing happened for so long he almost forgot why he was waiting in the first place. Eventually, he stopped staring out at the road that led out into the deep desert and turned to look at the dome of Las Noches.

The moon rose.

From where he stood, the moon centered itself perfectly over the main gate of Las Noches and between two of its towers as if to mark the beginning of summer. Or winter. In truth, it meant nothing. The moon always rose in the same place every night, its transit never shifting with the seasons, never marking the passage of time.

How many days had it been, Hisagi wondered. Three?

_Try five, asshole_ , Kazeshini said. He had been speaking up more and more often since they came to Hueco Mundo, and by now Hisagi knew better than to argue. He already had a bad enough headache as it was (he needed to stop by the lab, couldn't forget that). Besides, Kazeshini was probably right; Shuuhei's own sense of time passing had become skewed somewhere along the way, maybe because of the deadening sameness of this place, or maybe because he--

It didn't matter. Sometimes, it felt like entire days went missing before he knew what had happened. It had only been getting worse over the past few--

_Seven._

\--weeks.

Kazeshini had nothing more to say about that.

In fact, the zanpakutou said nothing else at all until Hisagi tried to picture how the horns of the moon would be reversed in Soul Society.

Kazeshini jumped in to point out gleefully that no, Shuuhei was being an idiot. He was supposed to remember that the moon was reversed _here_. It was the right way around in Soul Society.

What a moron, forgetting something so basic, so simple, Kazeshini laughed. Shuuhei was tempted to throw the sword off the wall and leave it there to rust in the desert. He might have, except that Kazeshini had a good point.

Everything was skewed and he was starting to forget.

He had already forgotten.

Five days, and nothing had happened aside from patrols being sent out to find a missing prisoner. There had been veiled hints from Kurotsuchi that Szayel had very likely done some unsanctioned experiments which had _of course_ been flubbed, and vice-versa.

What little gossip he had been able to glean about the missing Espada suggested that so far everyone--everyone whose opinion mattered--was content to believe that Grimmjow was just being Grimmjow and would be duly punished when he returned. A few outliers wondered if he had run afoul of Kurosaki or whatever it was that was had taken up residence in the caves and tunnels, but no one had even come close to the truth or thought to connect the two events.

Three (five) days was enough time for _something_ to have happened, wasn't it? Shuuhei rapped his knuckles on the parapet in a stuttering rhythm as he turned to stare back out into the desert and all the nothing happening out there. Shadows from the bare, crystalline trees spidered out in the moonlight, making the desert look as if it had been shattered. Having two escapees turn up like that would have lit a fire under someone like Ikkaku. He could also imagine Iba jumping at the bait. On the other hand, he could see Ise or Sasakibe urging caution. Rap-rap. If any of them were alive. They might not be. Rap. Information was scarce.

But something should happen soon, right? Unless Sado and Grimmjow had died out in the wilds of Rukongai and simply hadn't been found. Rap, rap, rap. If they had been found, there was no telling if the right people had found them. Rap, rap, rap-rap-rap. Or if the right people had found them and had known better than to trust a gift thrown to them by a traitor. No, Iba would know better than to jump, wouldn't he? And there were others whose reactions... no. Rap-rap, rap, rap. Or maybe they were just a bunch of cowards, Kazeshini said. Or maybe they were just all dead. Rap, rap, _ow_.

Shuuhei flexed his hand and hissed at the sting of air on re-scuffed knuckles.

Enough of this. The only thing this kind of thinking would do for him was drive him crazy.

_Crazier._ Kazeshini yawned. _You done moping and boo-hooing yet?_

Shuuhei ignored him, although that was getting harder and harder to do. Sometimes, Kazeshini's voice was louder than his own in his mind.

He headed back down to the main courtyard. Even though his sense of time had come undone, the pounding headache reminded him it was time to swing by the labs. No, talk to Lisa first, and _then_ the labs, and what the hell was he going to do about Lisa anyway?

( _"I want in..."_ )

He shook his head roughly, sending the pain stabbing through his temples again. Lisa had found him out so easily. No, not so much found him out as found a crack and known where to pry to see what was inside.

_That's because you pointed her right at the crack, lamebrain. And then you let it fall wide open. Did you even think about what you'd do next?_ Kazeshini chuckled, and Shuuhei could picture the knowing, hateful look in the spirit's eyes. _You remember what happened the last time some--oi! Pay attention! What happened to being careful, asshole?_

Hisagi looked down. Kazeshini retreated, muttering about being the one who had to do everything around here these days. The steps down from the main gate ran a long, long way across the face of the interior wall, and it gave him plenty of time to see who was down in the courtyard--just as it gave anyone plenty of time to see him making his descent.

An Arrancar stood there, obviously waiting for him. It was a female, young and slender with a lavender mohawk and a uniform that made Lisa's look modest. She looked like someone who was trying to look sexy and fierce but ended up being neither. She averted her gaze the instant he looked in her direction, then bowed low, clasped hands going down past her knees.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, Hisagi-sama, but Aizen-sama has requested your presence for tea this evening." She sounded as if she had a cold.

These invitations were not unexpected, but they never happened according to any pattern that Shuuhei could discern. Still, he wondered if there was any meaning to the timing of this invitation.

"Thank you, uh... what are you called, fraccion?"

He could hear Kazeshini muttering that her name didn't matter, that she'd probably just be pulped the next time Yammi got riled up about something and needed a nice, squishy target. Unless Aizen declared her 'surplus to needs' first.

Shuuhei was sorry he asked, but he had and after a moment's confusion, she answered.

"Pagally, sir," she said, still not looking up.

The name even sounded similar to the dozen or so low-ranked female Arrancar he'd met since he'd gotten there. It was his own thought, but it sounded too much like one of Kazeshini's.

"Thank you, Pagally-san. Please tell him I'll be there in... half an hour?"

She looked up at last, so scared her skin was as pale as the mask-fragment that swept across her nose and left cheek. "He's expecting you straightaway, sir," she shnuffled. "He was putting the water on to heat when I left."

No time for the lab, then. No time to tell Lisa he couldn't meet up with her.

Of course, he might show up in Aizen's chambers only to find her mounted on the wall along with Sado and Grimmjow.

Even before his stupid, heroic whim, he'd been expecting Aizen to surprise him with something like that for the past three--

_Four._

\--months.

Pagally led him to Aizen's rooms even though Shuuhei knew the way there already. She walked quickly, heels ticking on tile like a clock that had been wound too tight. Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was still following, but when he matched his pace to hers, she sped up to maintain her distance.

_Wonder where her hole is?_ Kazeshini snickered, calling Shuuhei's attention to the Arrancar's relative lack of clothing and the slit in her short skirt that went all the way up to the crease of her hip. _Hey, you were already looking, pal. I'm just adding commentary._

"Would you just shut up?" he hissed. Pagally looked back at him, seemingly caught between wanting to apologize and wanting to break into a run. "Not you. Uh... sorry about that."

Kazeshini thought the whole thing was hilarious, and would have made another comment, but Pagally stopped so short that Shuuhei only missed colliding with her by less than a hand's width.

"What's _he_ doing here?" A touch of disgust rose above the fear, but she only closed the distance between them by a fraction.

Shuuhei didn't even have to ask who 'he' was. He could tell well enough.

Ayasegawa was unmistakable, even from a room away. Without Harribel around to confuse things, his reiatsu made itself clearly known. It wasn't a shinigami's reiatsu or a Hollow's; it ebbed and surged, pulling at him and then pressing on him in slow, strong waves.

It left Shuuhei teetering on the edge of motion sickness.

He suspected it might not be so bad if only the pulling didn't sometimes seem directed at him, personally.

_Seems?_ laughed Kazeshini. _It_ is _directed at you. Pretty-boy got a taste of us. Feels to me like maybe he wants another._

Push and pull and the reiatsu drew closer and closer still. Pagally tensed, either trying to make herself smaller or getting ready to spring. Shuuhei kept his hands at his sides, deliberately not reaching for Kazeshini. The sword's voice would only grow louder if he gripped its hilt.

"My, my... I haven't seen you in a while, Hisagi-fukutaichou." Ayasegawa rounded the corner, hands held casually behind his back, showing off arms only slightly less pale than his clothing. He was clad all in white as usual. Even the feathers at the corners of his right eye were white, as were the wrappings and scabbard of his sword. His hair was dark as ever, but it was a black utterly devoid of any other color. The only color left was in his eyes, but Shuuhei didn't think they were the right color anymore.

"I no longer hold that rank," Shuuhei said quietly. He clenched his fists so he would _not_ grasp Kazeshini. "I gave that up when I followed Aizen-sama."

"We are on our way to see Aizen-sama _right now_." Pagally tried for stern, but it came out shrill and with an unfortunate sniffle at the end.

"Mmm..." Ayasegawa smiled without parting his lips. "I wonder what he wants with two such lovely things."

He walked up to them, and Pagally was now pressed back so hard against Shuuhei he could feel her hollow-hole behind the strips of fabric crossing her back.

"I've been invited to tea." Shuuhei had even less patience with Ayasegawa now than he did before, but he forced himself to remain polite and not pick the fight Ayasegawa no doubt wanted. The man's sneakiness and his devotion to the Eleventh's bloody ideal had never set well with him, and there was a small part of him (echoed strongly by Kazeshini) that felt what had happened to Ayasegawa was in some small way quite deserved. "Now if you'll excuse us, I would prefer not to be late."

The smile grew an edge, though Ayasegawa's gaze remained as sleepily blissful as always. "Oh, we can't have that. Is this lovely little lady going with you as well?"

Pagally no longer pressed back against him. She was shivering.

"Or perhaps you would rather come along with me? My lady Harribel does miss having fraccion of her own. I have no idea why. She has me, after all." His shrug was a barely visible, perfectly elegant ripple.

"That's enough, Ayasegawa. Come on, Pagally." He put a hand between her shoulders to give her a little shove forward, but Ayasegawa blocked their path. "Look--don't be a dick, okay? You don't want to get on my bad side. Not here. This isn't Seireitei."

"Mmmm... no. It isn't. I am _quite_ aware of that." Ayasegawa reached out to touch Pagally's cheek. Shuuhei could see the strain of her not flinching. "You heard what the man said, my dear. You don't want to be on his 'bad side.' You'd be much better off with Harribel. Except-- Hold on."

Ayasegawa lifted his hand to Pagally's mohawk. He teased the foremost lock away from the others and worked out its stiffness so that it fell in a loose curl that balanced and softened the contours of her mask. He stepped back to admire her from a different angle. As he turned, the light played off his cheek so that skin appeared to become bone, like the echo of a mask. But when Shuuhei tried to focus on it, it was gone again.

"There! That's a much better look for you. Quite fetching. Now are you sure you won't come with me? I'm sure Hisagi-fukutaichou can find his way to Aizen-sama's chambers without your help."

"I was ordered to bring him--"

"She's not going with you." Shuuhei gave Pagally a push. She dug in her heels at first, but then stumbled forward, getting a few frantic strides between them before he followed. He gave Ayasegawa a sharp nod of farewell, but that was it. There was a long sigh and a murmur of _well, I tried..._ , but he paid it no mind.

_Maybe you shoulda let her go with him,_ Kazeshini said.

No. Even though she was just a Hollow, the girl had been terrified. Was still terrified.

_Well, she's got damned good reason, pal._ Kazeshini sounded more concerned than amused for a change. Shuuhei barely kept himself from telling the zanpakutou to shut the fuck up.

Ayasegawa was off-putting enough to him. What would he seem like to a Hollow? His reiatsu felt nothing like Lisa's, where the lines between her Hollow-self and shinigami-self were bright and sharp. With Ayasegawa, the nature of his reiatsu mixed and melded and never settled. Today wasn't the first time he had seen that flash of bone--the thing that wasn't a mask the way the suggestion of shadow at the base of Ayasegawa's throat wasn't a hole.

"Don't worry," some impulse made him say. "I wouldn't have let him take you."

Pagally looked back at him again. Her face was so tight and pinched that she seemed haggard despite her youth. "I never wanted to come here. I just want to be out in the desert again," she whispered.

He wanted to ask what she meant by that, but they were at Aizen's chambers now. Not his private labs--no one went there, and Hisagi didn't even like to go near them for very long--but the rooms he had set aside for himself and his own entertainments.

The first time Aizen had invited him for tea, Hisagi had been convinced that his cover had been blown, that Aizen had somehow found out that Yamamoto-soutaichou and Komamura-taichou had ordered him to go in and go deep as a last resort if things got bad.

Well, things got bad. Very bad. And now there was no one left in Soul Society to know why he had done what he had done, why he had pretended to be loyal to Tousen after everything.

In the end, the tea had just been tea. Tousen was dead, Ichimaru was damaged and in disfavor, and Aizen was bored and in need of some congenial company. And besides, Shuuhei's inaction when it came to preventing the Vizard's murder had pleased Aizen enough that Shuuhei wondered if the whole thing had simply been some sort of test.

If it was a test, it was only the first of many.

As far as Shuuhei knew, he had passed them all. There were no second chances here, let alone third and fourth. This wasn't like the Academy, where he could just keep trying and trying until he got it right and made it in.

_Look sharp,_ Kazeshini said as they were bade to enter. _Stop woolgathering, already!_

The warning was hardly necessary. Shuuhei would do what he needed to do to keep his cover, to pass the tests.

A western-style table was set up in the middle of the room. The curves of the chairs and the warmth of the wood were not as out of place as they should have been, even though they were very small in the middle of a very large room. Perhaps they took on something of Aizen's presence. He was already seated, and did not bother to stand as Shuuhei entered.

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry that the tea would grow cold," he said even though steam still rolled upwards from the teapot's spout.

Aizen's hands and attention were on the tea set. He was only one flash step away. He wouldn't be expecting an attack. Shuuhei had passed his tests, all of them, every last bloody one. One slash, just one slash, and Aizen's head would be off his neck, blood on the white floor, all over the tea-set, sprayed across that ridiculous table--

Shuuhei told Kazeshini to shut the hell up. All he got by way of response was a wave of affronted and not very plausible innocence.

"I apologize for the delay, Aizen-sama." He bowed, out of habit.

"No matter." Aizen waved one hand through the air to dismiss the very offense he had just called attention to. "I know you would not purposefully delay."

"No. Of course not." He very carefully did not look behind him, to see if Pagally had stayed to await further orders or if she had slipped out while she had the chance.

"I do wish everyone here was equally as reliable." Aizen's gaze cut past Shuuhei as his voice sharpened, and there was a faint, snuffly gasp. Again, Shuuhei forced himself not to turn. He did, however, put his hand on Kazeshini's hilt and hear a soft growling.

"It's a shame--I had been thinking about giving her to Harribel. She's had the hardest time finding suitable replacements for the three fraccion she lost." He sighed. "But then again, she does have the delightful Ayasegawa to play with, and I don't think this little one here would meet her exacting standards. Harribel tolerates failure about as well as I do."

"I understand." Similar dramas had played out here before, so many he was starting to lose exact count. Shuuhei knew what would happen next. He didn't like it, but he was resigned to it; he would maintain cover. One stroke, and it would be over. If he did this quickly, she wouldn't even have time to be scared. Any more scared. "Would you like me to take care of it?"

Aizen sat back, smiling, hands folded in front of him. "That would be wonderful. I knew I could count on you."

She... _it_ was just a Hollow. He was a shinigami. By rights, he should kill her anyway. The fact that it was in cold blood (and she was so scared, so very scared...) made no difference. And he'd make it fast. Compared to other tests he'd passed, this one was easy. Still, he fought back the urge to apologize, to say he was sorry she wouldn't have a chance to go back to the desert.

He turned, and the wide-eyed and open fear on Pagally's face didn't slow him down. In fact, Kazeshini was already out of its sheath and shouting at him before Aizen's next words registered.

"I believe she would do well under your tutelage. I think you take after poor Tousen--always so patient with those who just need a _little_ more help to flourish, who need that extra push to conquer their fears."

Shuuhei didn't move at all for a few seconds, and when he finally turned away and resheathed Kazeshini, he still saw the blank resignation that had replaced the little Arrancar's terror the instant he drew his sword.

Aizen laughed softly. "Once upon a time, you would have hesitated if I had ordered you to kill her. Did you know, there were even times when I wondered if I made a mistake, bringing you in?"

Bullshit. If Aizen ever made a mistake, he'd never admit to it. He'd find a way to turn it to his advantage first.

"But you've proven yourself time and again, Hisagi-kun. I always thought you had a good deal of potential, but I'll admit that I've been pleasantly surprised."

"So, I'm getting my own fraccion?" he asked, more cross than he intended. This could complicate things. He did not address Aizen's other comments, although Kazeshini had plenty to say on the matter.

"Consider it a reward for the initiative you've demonstrated." Shuuhei did not look up to see the smile he knew was on Aizen's face. "You've come quite a long way, Hisagi-kun. What happens to her from here on out is up to you entirely. Although I would appreciate it if you would order her to serve us our tea."

Shuuhei did as he was bidden, although he did wonder if he should have told her to wipe her face and blow her nose first. Instead of seeming delighted at her reprieve, Pagally had developed a full-blown case of the shakes, nearly spilling the tea she poured for him and rattling the plates of cucumber sandwiches horribly.

"I know it's a shock, my dear," Aizen told her, resting his hand over hers as she set down the sandwiches. "Such mercies are rare, aren't they? I'm sure you'll demonstrate your gratitude in full later."

The smile Aizen turned in Shuuhei's direction was so innocent that the implications of what he had said were as clear as clear could be.

Again, Shuuhei told Kazeshini to keep the vivid images of blood on the tea table to himself. Again, Kazeshini pretended ignorance.

"I think it's time I trusted you with some more authority around here." Aizen sipped at his tea. "Losing Tousen was... well, that left a larger gap than I had imagined it would."

Again, bullshit. Tousen was expendable. He'd been used as a laboratory subject, no matter that he had volunteered for it. Shuuhei's guts still twisted into knots at the thought of what his captain had become, even as Kazeshini daydreamed about what it would have been like to take Tousen apart. But Tousen and Komamura had fallen together, and in the short time it had taken for Shuuhei to run to Komamura's aid, the tide of the battle had shifted hard and he had had very little time in which to make a very big choice.

Komamura had given him one last look, pleading. Shuuhei had said nothing, he had simply nodded and hoped Komamura and Yamamoto would understand. Instead of going to Komamura, he had helped the dying Tousen to his feet and taken him towards the gate to Hueco Mundo. He had even released Kazeshini against Iba. It was a plausibly close miss and a believable gesture of false loyalty that had damned him in the eyes of his friends. Damned him, but also given him the one chance that might help him save them.

"You've demonstrated your loyalty admirably--far beyond my expectations."

_"I know where your loyalties lie."_ The voice in his head was not Kazeshini's, but it was just as unwelcome for all that it was an unchanging echo. _"I know_ you. _I know what you're doing."_

"I'm glad to hear I've earned your trust." The tea was quite good. He sipped at it, and while he could hear himself engaging with Aizen's pleasantries, he also faded back so it was as if someone else was talking and even joking with Aizen. That was good. He wasn't sure he could keep up the façade any more.

He couldn't say which was more dangerous: the idea that Aizen could tell what he was thinking, or that he had started to believe that what Aizen was saying was true. The man was a liar (or so he'd been told), but the lies always seemed more plausible than the truth (what was the truth, anyway?). How could he think to win against a man who could turn even bad luck to his advantage? And what he said about some of the flaws of Soul Society--the very things that had driven Tousen to betrayal--were hard not to believe. The place was flawed, horribly so. Growing up in Rukongai, he had seen for himself how broken things were, had barely survived the brokenness.

But then he had had a vision of how he could become someone who _fixed_ things. No, not a vision, an epiphany. He had even marked his own face so that he could not forget.

He saw that mark in the mirror every morning, even now. He wondered if without it, he _would_ forget. If he would have already forgotten.

How easy would it be to tell himself that Aizen would win, that his friends were already lost. He himself was already far beyond lost, so maybe he should just cut his losses and do what he could to survive.

There was honor, yes, but how much of that did he have left? Not much, not anymore. Just scraps. Maybe not even that.

The first strip had been torn away when he did nothing and watched Ichimaru murder a man (just a Vizard, just an abomination, and what could he have done anyway, and besides, he got someone in there before Lisa could be killed), and even more when Aizen ordered him to kill a rebellious fraccion (just a Hollow who would have been just as glad to kill him, and he had no choice). And then another fraccion, simply because Aizen was displeased with it (he loathed raising his sword against someone who was not armed, but he had to maintain cover, and it was just an Arrancar) and was happy to have his implied orders followed so swiftly.

He maintained his cover. He kept Aizen's trust. He was in a position to strike when the time was right.

Whenever that was.

It certainly wasn't three--

_Seven._

\--weeks ago. That wasn't the time. He'd even said as much.

It wasn't time. It wasn't, but he'd said that and therefore implied that there _would_ be a time.

A time.

Time.

( _"It's not time."_ )

For a long time, as long as he could, he had avoided the Fourth Division members who had been brought here as Aizen's guests. He knew he was one of the more recognizable fukutaichou in the Gotei 13, and he didn't care to deal with any accusations he couldn't refute. The few sidelong glances were bad enough. At first, they'd filled him with the urge to explain everything, but over time he had learned simply to ignore them, just as he had learned to ignore the twist in his gut when he passed along a request from Kurotsuchi to have ten more guests from the Fourth transferred to his care.

There was nothing to be done for them, he told himself. How could he throw away his mission in an undoubtedly futile attempt to save ten people? When the lives of so many more were possibly at stake? They would understand, if he could explain. Wouldn't they?

Iemura had not understood. He'd broken curfew and seventeen different rules to track down Shuuhei. He'd risked having his head blown clean from his neck. Shuuhei had never seen the collars in action, but he had been informed of their purpose.

"Ten of my people are going to have unspeakable things done to them. Do you have any idea what Kurotsuchi has been _doing_ in there?"

Shuuhei leaned back, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. The man had been annoying as hell back when he'd been vice-president of the Men's Association, and now... the flood of memories of other, better times struck deeper than he would have expected. "You shouldn't be here. You really shouldn't."

"I think you do know. Or you can guess, can't you? I heard that you saw for yourself what had been done to Tousen. Did you hear about Kuchiki Rukia? Yamada-nanaseki saw her himself before she was killed, did you know that?"

He had heard. It was safer not to think about that, or about how she and Kuchiki-taichou had died. "I think you should leave now."

"Or what about Kira-fukutaichou? Your kohai?" Iemura leaned over Shuuhei's desk, hands only a few inches from Kazeshini's sheath. Shuuhei pulled the sword closer to him, just in case.

"I didn't hear about it until they sent him off to Ichimaru. It was already too late!" What would he have done if he'd known Kira was alive, and imprisoned? Would it have changed anything? He suspected that would be the next question, but Iemura surprised him.

"What makes you think that that same thing won't happen to _you_ once Aizen gets tired of you?"

"It won't. He won't."

_I'll kill us, first,_ Kazeshini said, just as he did any time the topic came up. _You and me, fused like that? Forever?_

Well, not forever. Sword and man had separated once Tousen died, and while Tousen's body did not merit any further regard from Aizen, Aizen had brought Suzumushi back to Las Noches with him.

_I will fucking_ kill _us before I let that happen, Shuuhei._

"I've lost twenty-three people since we got here, Hisagi-fukutaichou." Iemura said this as if it would make some difference.

"That's not my title." Iemura had no right to put those kinds of expectations on him. "Not anymore."

"I know that's not true. _You_ know that's not true. I saw what you were like after Tousen defected."

That was true. They--him and Iemura and Iba and Kira and half the Men's association--had gone out drinking once all the dust had settled. Shuuhei didn't remember much of what happened in those days, but he did remember the hangover.

"How much longer are you going to do nothing?" Iemura's glasses tipped down the side of his face, and he adjusted them as best he could. One of the temple pieces was missing, and he had clearly not had the opportunity or resources for repair. "You're planning something. You're not _that_ good of an actor. If you really wanted to turn traitor, you could have done so much more damage before you left."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He should call for help, but any help would likely be terminal for Iemura. But he had to get Iemura out of there. He had to shut him up. He'd maintained cover so far, but if someone overheard...

"I know where your loyalties lie."

...it would mess everything up. Everything he had worked for.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, the words flat and false even to his own ears.

And what was it he had worked for, in the end? What good had he done? Was he doing?

"I know _you._ I know what you're doing. I want in."

Shuuhei blinked at him a few times, as if that would make him go away. But Iemura remained there, shabby and desperate and grinning as if he'd done something very clever. Which, of course, he had. Damn him.

"Want in to _what_?"

" _Ending_ this, damn it!" Iemura snapped his hands into the air and his glasses fell to the ground. He didn't even try to retrieve them. "It's gone on long enough. How long are you going to continue letting it go on? When are you going to _do_ something? Do you have any idea how many of us are ready to act?"

No. But he knew how many of them were fitted with explosive collars. He rubbed at his temples and tried to wish the headache away. He stared down at Kurotsuchi's request and all the other papers on his desk (paperwork, even here... it seemed unfair). There was nothing he could do about the test subjects Kurotsuchi had ordered. There was nothing he could do with a bunch of demoralized medics who were wired as fucking _weapons_ , nothing to do against a man who seemed to predict their every move, nothing to do when he didn't know if he had any hope of backup...

Shuuhei stood up and paced away from the table, then back again. He did not sit down. "Not... not now!" he snapped. "You can't--It's not time, damn it!"

Three--

_Seven_

\--weeks later, he wasn't sure what made him speak out loud. Carelessness, maybe, or fatigue.

Or maybe it was being desperate to talk to _someone_ on his side that wasn't a foul-mouthed zanpakutou, and Iemura had been a friend of sorts.

"'If not now, when?'" It was said as if it was a quote, but Shuuhei couldn't place it. He still couldn't, but he could imagine Unohana-taichou saying it. And look what had happened to her. Iemura stepped forward, backing Shuuhei up against the table, leaning close. Shuuhei could imagine the collar taking out both of them at this range, but Iemura had only come in close to whisper to him. "Then you _are_ with us. I--I'm sorry, but I _had_ begun to doubt. Help us. Please."

He couldn't see Iemura's face at this angle, but his memory showed him someone else, someone who could only mouth the words at him, not say them.

"I've only started planning, but we're going to act, and act soon, before there are none of us left. If you help us, this could work. Can you promise me that you'll help? If I tell the others you'll help... can you imagine what that would do?"

He still remembered the moist heat of Iemura's words against his ear. He still remembered trying to back away, only to stumble when he bumped the edge of the table, reaching back to find balance and finding something else instead.

" _Do_ something for a change, Hisagi-fukutaichou. You've been sitting here, having it easy. All you've had to do is keep your mouth shut, keep a low profile. Lead us. You have no idea what my people have been through. You have no idea--"

He still remembered the warmth of Iemura's blood on his hand.

He still remembered Kazeshini's outraged shouts, demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing.

"You have _no_ idea what I've been through." His hand remained steady on Kazeshini's hilt. The tsuba remained flush against Iemura's chest. "All the things I've had to do. All the things I've had to stand by and watch."

All the things he _didn't_ do.

In a novel, there would have been a carefully described moment where Iemura looked at him in reproachful shock, but instead the man had doubled over with the force of the blow. He'd already been leaning forward, and now he just slumped against Shuuhei, head resting on his shoulder as if in trustful slumber.

"Don't you see, Yasochika-san?" he asked after far too long. He put a hand on Iemura's back, steadying him. "I'm saving them. I am. You'd only get them killed. Don't you see that?" He didn't expect an answer, nor did he expect belief. It sounded all so plausible, in retrospect. As plausible as any of Aizen's lies.

Kazeshini was oddly silent as he was eased free of Iemura's body.

Shuuhei wasn't sure what happened next. He had vague memories of Aizen doing... something... to put matters to rights. Well, as to rights as they could be. He thought he remembered explaining the situation, calmly, and with a gallows humor that seemed to please Aizen.

He couldn't really be sure. It all seemed to happen from a distance, and besides, it was time. It was when time started to act funny on him, to slip past without him noticing.

And now, sitting and having tea with Aizen, two pots of tea and an entire plate of cucumber sandwiches and a handful of little biscuits had disappeared along with the minutes.

Funny, but he couldn't remember the last time he ate. His stomach grumbled, letting him know that he still had a way to go before the lack of attention would be forgiven. But he waved Pagally off when she held the tray of biscuits out to him again.

He was _here_ again, and Aizen was looking at him, eyes narrowed and head tilted.

"Are you feeling well, Hisagi-kun?" The concern seemed genuine enough.

Shuuhei rubbed his eyes. "Just tired all of a sudden."

Damn, he needed to get to the labs. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to dream. But he was so tired he could feel the dead weight of Iemura's body pulling him down.

"Didn't sleep well last night," he muttered.

Aizen inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, but offered no more sympathy. "I suggest you get some rest tonight, then. I had been hoping to continue this discussion--but I need you focused and alert."

With that, Shuuhei felt _very_ awake. What had they been talking about? He couldn't remember. In the back of his mind, Kazeshini let out a tempest of profanity.

_Aizen's planning something,_ he snarled. _You picked a great time to punk out on us, asshole._

He muddled through the thank yous and the good nights, and he kept his attention firmly on an empty corner of the room when Aizen told Pagally to be sure to attend to Shuuhei's needs.

_Whatever he's got planned, whatever's going on, we better hope that help you sent for gets here soon. I got no idea what he's gonna try, but if something doesn't happen soon, we're screwed. All of us._

He did not look back to see if Pagally was following him. The tick-tick-tick of her heels told him that. He wanted to tell her not to be scared, but that would be cruel.

They all had very good reason to be scared.

_Being scared is one thing, pal. Being a coward's another._

Shuuhei had nothing to say to that. He wondered if Kazeshini had overheard his thoughts about how he hoped the help would never arrive, that he wouldn't have to make _another_ desperate choice if they did arrive.

When the Inoue girl had changed Grimmjow, he should have gone straight to Aizen. Maybe, if he hadn't known that Sado was in the holding area just outside the labs right then, that's what he would have done.

Once again, he could have shown how much he could be trusted. He would have maintained cover. Just as he had when Iemura had offered him another crazy, impossible chance to demonstrate that he remembered what he was maintaining cover for.

_Look, maybe they'll get here. Maybe we'll win._

The dread he felt just thinking about that made him stumble.

But then, he thought, perhaps a good death while fighting a good fight was the best he could hope for.

In the back of Shuuhei's mind, Kazeshini rolled his eyes.

When they got to his rooms, Shuuhei walked straight in. The tick-tick-tick behind him stopped abruptly. He turned to look, and as he did, Pagally visibly steeled herself. He could see herself telling herself to be brave.

It was strange, feeling this kind of sympathy for a Hollow.

He crouched down slightly, so she could look him in the eye without having to crane her neck. She flinched, but in the end met his gaze.

"I need you to run an errand for me, Pagally. And then you're free for the rest of the night."

"You do not wish me to come in?" She didn't even try to hide her relief.

"No. I need you to go to the labs--no, not into the actual labs themselves," he said quickly, when her eyes went wide with fear. "Just to the supply rooms. There's something I need."

He told her how the pills he was looking for would be labeled, and where she could find them. No one had noticed them going missing--yet--but one of the Nemus had said something having seen him in the area rather frequently. For whatever reason, he had assumed it wasn't the same Nemu he kept bumping into over and over again. Or maybe they just talked among themselves.

"I've been having trouble staying awake," he explained, even though she'd shown no curiosity. She started to ask him something, then thought better of it. "And while you're at it, pick up something for, um..."

He wiped at his own nose by way of illustration.

"Oh, and if you see Yadomaru Lisa, tell her Aizen-sama invited me to tea. That's all she needs to know."

Pagally nodded, then took off down the hallway at a dead run before he had even finished dismissing her.

If she was smart, she'd get out of this place before it warped her. And she was smart--he'd figured that one out quickly. Even though she was a Hollow, she knew right away which of them was the monster.

Shuuhei rested a hand on his belly, in part to try to quell the constant churning, in part to make sure that the flesh there was still solid.


	23. Ensemble: First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gin's forces go to Ukitake's Mansion to rescue Matsumoto and clear it out. There are a few surprises. -- by liralenli

**Ensemble: First Contact**

  


Takano Dan blended into the shadows of the forest about him, as easily and silently as the leaves themselves. He had volunteered for the path Gin was most likely to take from Seirentei. The looks he'd gotten from Kuukaku and Ukitake-taichou had measured him, and then they had nodded. He'd been grateful they trusted him with this.

Now he waited patiently in the underbrush for any sign of the reported enemy. The extremely terse message had arrived from Soi Fong's folks a bare hour ago, and they'd all run to their stations. Momo watched the other road, but this was the one that Dan had mined the most thoroughly.

He hoped now that the work wouldn't be wasted.

Birds sang, the forest rustled in the breezes, and the creek chuckled softly to itself in the underbrush. Dan let that all wash through him, let the sounds of the forest itself become a part of his consciousness. When the birds stopped chirping, a squirrel chattered a warning, and the playful yip and snarl of some fox kits at play suddenly stopped, he came alert.

The first thing he felt was their reiatsu, and that surprised him. Dan hadn't ever been that good at sensing reiatsu: he relied more on his physical senses than his spiritual ones. It must be an immense amount of power rolling toward him. The memory of Ukitake Jyuushiro's power rolling forth when they had that blue-haired brat in the room came to him, unbidden. This tasted like at least two people of power equal to that.

Dan swore softly under his breath. He had to get closer to see so that he could warn the others.

First, though, he sent a quick message kidou so that the people in the mansion would know that there was contact.

Then he slipped from shadow to shadow, tree to bush, rock to tufts of high grass and bamboo, and as he moved the pressure grew. When he found it hard to breathe, he stopped and hid.

Now he felt three power signatures, two overwhelming ones and one more modest one. To his horror, one of the big ones and the modest one felt hungry, aching… Hollow. He took a shaking breath. He knew that Gin and Aizen had plenty of Hollows on their side, but they had been discreet about using them in the heart of Seireitei.

It looked like that was about to change.

He ran quiet and quick, but a surprised bellow rang out and one of the big Hollow reiatsu came at him in a burst of flash step. Startled, he flash-stepped away, and then swore as that gave away his reiatsu and a dozen different people with power came after him all at once.

Dan fled.

What started as pure panic became reasoned, purposeful, when he saw that his quick direction changes made his pursuers overshoot his turns When he saw which ones overshot by how much, Dan started working the whole crowd toward the kill zone that he and Shiba-sama had set up together.

Dozens of charges were set, not only along the road, but into the fields to either side. Most triggered on pressure, a few triggered on reiatsu, and none of them were clearly marked, but he'd made himself one clear spot in the center, where he could start.

He'd woken up sweating over nightmares where he couldn't tell right from left, east from west, but when he flash-stepped to the center of the field, the tells on the mines seemed as clear as neon signs.

That was until the crowd behind him started landing on them.

Three explosions in quick succession rained dirt, body parts, and various liquids that Dan did not care to identify all around the field, and then two more. He grinned viciously, and seeing one still clear spot, he stepped to it just as an enormous, Hollowed-out reiatsu signature reared its way over the field and sprayed a thick sheet of ice everywhere.

"Shit!" Dan cried out and landed on his ass, sliding right toward where he knew he'd laid one of the mines.

He shunpo'ed again, and found himself sliding toward a different spot further along the ice, but there were no more explosions behind him. When he slid right over the spot he knew should have made him nothing more than a smear of grease on the ground nothing happened.

The string of curses that he spilled would have made his Senior Chief proud. None of the charges were going to work encased in ice. He shunpo'ed again, and stumbled to the edge of the field.

What frightened Dan the most was that he'd felt that reiatsu signature before, he knew the shape and feel of that cold power.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Dan chanted as he finally just ran straight for the mansion, as fast as he could go. He'd found Hitsugaya-taichou, but he'd been turned Hollow and was on Gin's leash.

* * *

After all the last-minute planning had been done, and everyone given their assignments, Jyuushiro used old campaign tactics to sleep before the enemy arrived from Seireitei. He thought about beaches and waves taking him away, and ended up in his interior world with Sōgyo no Kotowari. The sword spirit had taken on their more childish forms, and the three of them curled up for a nap on the warm sandy beaches of their home, with Jyuushiro's Captain's coat as a blanket, his sleeves as a pillow beneath their heads.

When the alarm sounded for first contact, he awoke feeling rested and alert, calmed by the sea.

Isane's light, quick footsteps approached his door along the hallway, and she was quickly by his side: together they got him situated in his wheelchair, and she wheeled him into the library, settling him behind the desk. Then she surprised him by bringing in a tray with a steaming pot of water and tea leaves.

"Tea?" he asked, his eyebrows going up.

She smiled back. "There's always time for tea."

When Jyuushiro sipped the clear golden brew, and smelled the fragrance coming off the liquor, he had to agree. It calmed him, centered him, allowed him the space to wrap his reiatsu about himself, as they had planned. No need to set up a beacon of his power. He gave Isane a clear smile back, even as he felt Takano Dan's frantic reiatsu homing in on their location.

"Ready?" Jyuushiro asked.

"Ready," Isane said, something firming in her stance, her expression.

"Good."

Takano landed on the rotting balcony, making it protest and groan under his weight before he made a last, panting shunpo step into the room, and to Jyuushiro's feet. He simply collapsed, his horror and fear palpable against his usual military bearing and exactness.

"Hitsu... Hitsugaya...." he panted out, between painfully hard breaths.

"You've found Hitsugaya-taichou?" Jyuushiro sat up, hope coming alive once more.

"No! NO..." Takano nearly wailed the last word and then caught his breath and his bearing. "Gin has Hitsugaya-taichou as a Hollow."

"Hollow?" Jyuushiro didn't slump: he sat there, and rather than consider the horror, he turned his mind to how to deal with it.

"Using ice to stifle mines... don't know how to get... the explosions to work."

Jyuushiro's and Isane's eyes met over the panting, despairing man. Isane took a shaking breath and then she nodded at Jyuushiro. _I'll do it._ He nodded back. "Go," he whispered.

She went.

Takano looked around wildly. "She can't take them by herself!"

"Can you help her?" Jyuushiro asked, and saw the man suddenly pull himself completely back together again. The power of a respected authority asking for something specific and a companion in need. Jyuushiro sometimes wished he didn't understand quite so well the strings he pulled to get his men to run into death for him.

"Yes. I'll have to, won't I?" Takano panted. At Jyuushiro's nod he vanished in the same direction Isane had gone.

Jyuushiro sighed and rested his eyes against the heels of his hands. Then he settled, and sent the kidou message out to Momo, Shirogani, and Iba to expect a Hollowed Hitsugaya in Gin's company.

* * *

Isane dashed back along the path they'd set up, and felt Takano catching up to her from behind. She didn't slow, but followed the line of explosives from the mansion toward a shining field of ice. Takano had invited Kuukaku and Isane along for a tour of his methods when he'd laid the field, so she was very clear on where he'd laid charges and where he hadn't. The plan won both their approval.

She stopped well before they reached the field: the reiatsu signatures confirmed what Takano said. This was going to be bad. Ice covered all the physical triggers.

She heard a muffled thud. That must have been one of the reiatsu-triggered mines, but the ice could be used to direct the blasts away from their targets. The only way the explosions could work now would be if they were strong enough or directed through a small enough area to actually break the ice.

Nearly all the charges they had were non-directional: they would explode in all directions, scattering shell and debris up from the ground. They would be useless against the thick coating of ice.

The field itself shone with ice, but the strings of explosives they'd set along the road and in the grounds to either side of the road beyond the field were still free and available to them.

Isane considered shield and blocking kidou spells, and finally settled on the simple repulsion field Number Eight. It would take less reiatsu to invoke, could be done simply and quickly by Takano, and she could do many of them at once if she held the structure of the spell in her mind.

"Takano, can you do two Seki spells, placed like this?" Quickly she formed the spell with her fist, and slapped it down under a nearby, physically triggered mine. She saw Takano flinch as her hand moved so near the triggering mechanism, but that wasn't to be helped. "... and this." Another shaping shield, stronger than mere physical ice, and with two of them to direct the force up...

He nodded. "I can."

"Let's get these done, then, and while we don't have enough reiatsu triggers..."

"... I could trigger these by hand," Takano volunteered, pulling two balls of twine from the sleeves of his uniform. "Just tie a string to a support under each plate, add a rock on top, and pull the string when the time comes?"

"That's fast enough, I think," Isane said. "Let's go."

Shield, shield, stick with string, and rock. Shield, shield, stick with string, and rock. The sequence sped up as she got more familiar with the exact height she needed. Strings trailed from them both.

The mad reiatsu got closer. Finally, they bundled the few dozen strings together for Takano under a tree.

"Go, go, go," Takano urged her as they neared the end of the trail.

"You have it?" she said, feeling worried: it seemed like there were more that needed to be done than could be in the time they had left.

"If you get the shields on these three, yes. I'll have it," he said, sounding strangely forceful.

Then she realized what Takano was doing. "You're going to trigger these last ones yourself, aren't you?"

He looked at her. "Well, you have to protect Ukitake-taichou. No?"

She looked back and found tears flooding her eyes. Isane hugged him, hard. "You'll..."

"Hey, who knows, I might be able to get them going at the right time, and get out of here using flash-step. I'm pretty fast. If not, well I needed to get back to living," he said with a frown, but she saw that his eyes were wet as well, even though he followed with a laugh. "You ladies are just too crazy for me. Besides..." Takano added with a grin. "I want to see these work."

Isane nodded, saluted him and accepted Takano's formal return of the salute.

Then she ran. When the explosions began, she didn't look back.

* * *

Gin watched his men be blown into bits even while they were on the ice with nothing but a slit-eyed stare. The brat's icing technique had done good on the field, but as they made their way toward the mansion it was comin' clear that the bastards knew he'd be after his sweet Rangiku-chan.

Somehow they knew, and they were holdin' her in that house so that he'd come and die.

The hell he would. There were ways... the Academy had taught him more than just techniques for killing. There were reasons he was a Captain, for Heaven's sake.

He motioned Rudobon over. The big Arrancar bent his head to listen, his thick horns coming far too close to Gin's face.

"Take them Tower of Penitence guards with ya, and yer own squad too, and go 'round behind that mansion. If they try'n run with Rangiku-chan, kill 'em and bring her back to me. We'll go 'round front and see ya inside."

Rudobon gave him a low bow, released his zanpakutou and created his squad about him. The dozen hooded guards shifted their long spears and formed up behind them. The orders were given, and the group started off down the path they were standing on.

Explosions boomed about them. Some screamed. Four of the men blew apart.

A sliver of ice sliced Gin's cheek, and he frowned as he touched his cheek and found red on his fingers.

The timing on the explosions . . . it wasn't as if they were being set off by contact, the timing was too long after they'd come near the point where the explosives were laid. There was some other kind of control.

And once they were well off the path, no more explosions happened. So they had only so many explosives. Gin could deal with that: just sacrifice enough people, and he would have a clear path to his Rangiku-chan.

"Tsk... the waste of it all. Izuru, come here, sugar."

Izuru came to him, blue eyes shining.

"You take the rest of these folks, and go on in the front door. Rescue Rangiku-chan for me, right?"

Izuru's eyes stilled for just a moment and then the boy bowed gracefully to Gin. "Thank you, sir. I shall do my best."

"My good Izuru." Gin stroked the blond hair and saw the shiver that worked its way through the slender form. He smiled.

"Sir, could you.... have him add another coat of ice on the way to the front door? I'd rather... rather not have to sacrifice people to get there, I'll have more to kill the ones inside," Izuru said with an adorably bloody smile.

Gin took Hitsugaya's leash and yanked. The ragged, broken-feathered Hollowfied shinigami fell heavily at Gin's feet. Low guttural sounds came from the small figure, but there were no recognizable words. Aizen's people hadn't been kind in their work converting this one, and some part of Gin shuddered, some part of him glad that he had never fought as hard as Hitsugaya had fought Aizen's will.

Could take the heart right out of a person...

"Right. You..." Gin said softly. "Go cover the way from here to that big house in ice again."

What had once been Hitsugaya rose drunkenly into the air, and sprayed ice in another thick glittering coating over everything between their group and the house.

When Kira led the way across the thicker shell there was a muffled thud, and the ice screamed and crackled as it bowed up into a lump. It happened again, and all of Kira's people started scrambling back toward Gin's group.

Gin narrowed his perceptions, looking for some power that was triggering the damned things. He suddenly felt a specific reiatsu, tasting of deep ocean: not quite like Jyuushiro's, as it was thinner, colder, edged with death. That reiatsu pop, pop, pop, pop, popped. Then five charges went off in a row. The first bent and cracked the double layer of ice, the second blew it wider, and the quick succession of the final three raised the ice like some falling wave.

The slowest of Kira's people died under the crushing weight of ice.

The pop of that particular reiatsu happened again, arrowing toward the mansion. Gin pointed, and snarled, "Git that fucker with the reiatsu!"

Kira's blue eyes went wide, and he disappeared in a chord of sonido headed right toward the other signature. His people followed.

Gin smiled. It was that or be left with him.

Now gentle, he took Hitsugaya's leash and followed the mad scramble that followed straight-backed Kira into the den.

* * *

Kira jumped blind.

He stumbled over the rolling limbs of his own men, and didn't stop even as he left bloody footprints on the shattered ice.

The hunger within him gnawed ferociously at his guts, and he wished he'd been able to bring some of his snacks with him. He wanted... wanted....

What did he want?

_Jump_.

Right. He wanted Gin-sama's approval, his love, to please him in all this. He had to go into that mansion and kill everyone there...

No. Not everyone.

Who did Gin-sama want not-killed?

Oh, right. Matsumoto-fukutaichou. What did Gin-sama need her for?

Gin-sama had him. He didn't need some big-breasted, laughing red-head when he had obedient Izuru!! But...

But Gin-sama said he loved Izuru. He'd said, _My good Izuru._ Kira shuddered in pleasure at the memory. Izuru was his one and only pet. Rangiku would never stand for being called pet, would she? Unless...

_Jump_.

Unless Gin-sama sent her off to Aizen to do to her what he'd done to Izuru.

Kira shuddered, shuddered hard, something in him crying out and shaking him like a caged bird throwing itself against the bars.

Gin-sama said he loved Rangiku, wanted her safe, wanted her with him, not with the traitors. And he trusted Izuru to do what needed to be done. Gin-sama trusted him, but... what if he didn't love him as much as he loved Rangiku? What if Gin-sama was sending him to his death for her?

_Jump_.

The image of his men being crushed under the ice slowed Kira's footsteps. His own thoughts, the gnawing in his gut slowing him down. He wasn't going to die for her. And if she died...

So Kira slowed to a walk from all the voices in his head.

And when he reached the front door, he didn't open it. He wasn't going to die for her. He might die for Gin-sama, but not for her.

Instead of going in, he motioned some of his people forward, and simply said, "I need you and you to go in to see what I have to face when we get in."

Both men looked back at Gin-sama, who smiled and waved from where he stood, a good hundred yards away. Kira simply nodded, acknowledging the fact that if the road were booby-trapped, the door probably was too.

"Can we try the window?" one asked.

"Certainly," Kira said, and then he motioned the rest of his people off the front porch and entry way. They moved away with alacrity, and Kira stood and watched as one of the two smashed a pane of the window to the right. It shattered, and the first one peeled away all the shards, while the other wrapped his sleeves about his hands before he climbed over the jagged sill.

Cautiously, the climber put one foot on the floor inside, and then stepped inside.

Kira found that he was holding his breath. He started to let it out when the entire front of the building lit with fire and thunder.

The man by the window didn't have a chance. When thousands of slivers of glass went through a human body, there wasn't much left.

A third of Kira's people ran back toward Gin-sama. Gin-sama's wrath be damned, they weren't going to face that.

Kira gave a single glance back at his boss, and saw Gin-sama already giving Hitsugaya the signal to cut them all down. The screaming behind him was far worse than the flickering flames and silence before him. The two dozen people left crowded in close to him.

"Careful... careful..." he murmured. "There might be more."

They hung back, and he walked into the front foyer, which now looked like a scene from hell. The skeleton of the climber gaped, charred, still ragged, with strips of fire hanging off him. Shards of marble and ivory lay everywhere. The twin sweeping staircases to either side of the entry way had collapsed into piles of rubble, and there was no other way up that Kira could see.

He sensed the reiatsu Gin-sama had pointed out after the explosions, and two other signatures up there, muffled and dim. Kira closed his eyes, and tried, very hard to sense other signatures. Two others skip, skip, jumped towards him. one further back than the other. Could that be Momo? For an instant something howled in the back of his head, and he stiffened, remembering his orders.

Then one muffled reiatsu suddenly flared clear, a good half mile from the house, but bright and clear and strong despite the distance. Kira recognized Iba. A handful of smaller powers came to bear as well. Probably the mansion's rear guard facing the two squads that had gone with Rudobon.

It seemed that Gin-sama was right to send people to the back.

Rangiku's lazy-cat reiatsu was nowhere that he could sense, but the three upstairs... one might be her. Nothing else seemed strong enough, and the moving ones were too mobile for a wounded woman.

Kira flash-stepped up onto the ragged platform that had once anchored the staircases from above, and let his men follow as they could.

* * *

"Aaaaahhhh!!!" Rikichi screamed as he charged his first enemy.

Iba heard the boy yelp as the guard with a spear faded to the side, but Rikichi managed to get a block into place before the other man's edge struck at him. The extra leverage of the spear, however, nearly knocked him off his feet.

Shirogane took four rapid steps. Her sword licked out and back into her scabbard before Iba could hobble forward, and the Tower guard fell in a spray of blood. The other seven guards drew back. The Arrancar with a squad of like-looking Hollows stepped back as well.

Shirogane bought Iba's squad time.

Iba swore and barked, "Rikichi! Suzuki! Yoshino! Taguchi, get your people fucking _inside the circle_! Kuroda! Damn it! All of you form up! Don't scatter like headless chickens! You goddamned idiots get your shit together and kill them!"

His kids suddenly woke up at Iba's fury. They ducked, dodged, and finally got into place where they could watch each other's backs. The wounded huddled in the middle, on the ground, less likely to get hurt but now completely immobile. The attacking guards brandished their spears, which had a real reach advantage over the swords they carried.

"Suzuki! Kuroda! Get some length! Shit for brains! They're gonna try and lure you out by poking at you until you charge 'em. Don't fucking give them the opportunity! Right?"

The chorus of "Right!" and "Yes, sir!" let him breathe again, and Iba released his zanpakutou with a snarl. The small tanto grew into his falchion state, and the pick growing at the end glinted brightly. The two he'd called on had pole arm shikai, and they followed suit.

Shirogane glanced at him, and nodded. She stayed outside their neat circle, so that she could close with their enemy as she was able; but she stayed close enough that they could guard her back. Too far into them, and she would have no defense.

The Hollows lined up on one side: the seven remaining guards ranged back on the other, their spears up. They braced to attack.

Iba used his arm to keep hold of his crutch: he couldn't move worth a shit, but he could...

He caught the spear head that flashed at him on the edge of his sword, and the weight of the falchion brought the head of it all the way around in a sweeping circular parry so fast that it snapped the head off the spear with the weight and strength of his steel.

The crutch supported his weight, his other knee and leg compensating for most of the motion, but when the momentum took him over the center of the crutch, he staggered, landed on his bad knee and nearly fell before he could move the base of the crutch to widen his stance.

Another spear point flashed toward him. Next to him, Suzuki screamed, and used the emotional force behind the scream to block the spear away from both of them with her naginata. The other spearmen attacked all at once. Shirogane closed in on the most eager of them, getting so close they couldn't get their spear heads far enough back to even threaten her. The man she attacked died before he even hit the ground, the next one's life bubbled away from an opened throat, but the third managed to use the distance between himself and his comrade to get his spear back far enough that he could stab at her.

Shirogane spun to the side, the spear head going by her, and her blade rasped along the handle, guiding her in for an overhand strike that sounded like a cleaver going into a ripe melon.

Taguchi and Kuroda threw up.

Suzuki, on her recovery from the block, took an arm off the spearman Iba had disarmed. Shirogane finished him from where she stood.

Then four of the dozen Hollows charged.

Rikichi reacted, more in trained reflex than anything, and he kiai'ed with force this time, and struck, both hands snapping forward right through the Hollow's mask, just before its blade reached him. Suzuki found her footing, and swung her naginata all the way around, the wickedly sharp blade on the end of the pole arm slicing through the mask of two of the charging Hollows.

Iba recovered enough footing so that when the last Hollow charged him, sword raised, Iba could swing his longer falchion so that it hit the Hollow in the head just as it started to bring its sword down. Iba swore as the strengthless, dead arms simply continued their motion, as his sword stuck for just an instant in the bone mask. He moved to the side, flinching when the sword should have hit him in the shoulder, but the Hollow blew away to dust and ash.

Kuroda recovered, spitting to clear his mouth. He stepped up, swung a block against a spear thrust, and skewered the attacker through the gut with his ji. Then there were only two spearmen and the eight Hollows that hadn't moved, yet.

The big Arrancar with the horns cocked his head and another twenty Hollows appeared. The spearmen stepped back as Shirogane sighed.

"I fucking _hate_ cookie-cutter Hollows," Iba grunted. Shirogane laughed. His kids glanced at her in surprise.

The Hollows charged.

* * *

Isane cried out when Takano staggered into the library. Small slashes covered his body from head to toe, the blood soaked ribbons of his robe fluttered as he moved, and blood dripped relentlessly from his angular limbs. Jyuushiro saw the boy grin at Isane, and saw her still under it.

"Not now, healer," Takano said between panting breaths. "I'm still moving fine... nothing vital got hit, just... stings like hell." He collapsed behind Jyuushiro's desk.

Jyuushiro nodded, glad that Takano had found some measure of solidity amid explosions and action. Jyuushiro himself still felt shaken by the explosion in the front entrance, and rather than show that, he asked, "How many are left?"

"Two squads to the back... behind some Arrancar. Two to the front behind Kira... he sacrificed two to the front foyer... a cold play..." A pause and Takano caught his breath. "Kira feels... Hollow too, sir. Ichimaru and Hit... Hitsugaya are waiting out of range. So..."

"So you've lured Kira's squads directly up here so that they wouldn't disturb..."

Takano nodded tiredly. "Right. We need those to stay intact until Ichimaru actually gets here." He shook his head. "I hope... I really hope we don't have to use them all on Hitsugaya just to..." He dropped his head into his hands, smearing his own blood around. "I don't like this, sir."

"None of us do," Jyuushiro said dryly. "It's hard enough to kill an enemy one is supposed to hate. To kill someone we respect and love that is being forced against us? That's... that's supposed to be nigh on impossible, Takano. That’s why Aizen is changing our friends."

He sighed, and looked up at Isane, who looked entirely lost within her own memories and thoughts, so deeply in pain that he reached out to touch her arm. She started even as they both felt Momo's fiery comet path toward them.

Momo appeared just inside the balcony, her dark eyes wide. "'Shiro?" she breathed and then blinked, and, under Jyuushiro's sympathetic look, she hardened and shook her head. "Sorry, sir."

"There's something else you should know. I only told you about Hitsugaya, as that was all that I knew at that point," Jyuushiro said quietly.

Momo's eyes grew wide, as a pained, shackled reiatsu as hungry and empty as that of a Hollow suddenly approached the library door.

"Shit," breathed Takano.

That was when the door was thrown back, and Kira's slender, blond figure stepped into the library. He was liberally streaked with blood, and his blue eyes were as pale as a mid-winter sky. In the flickering light of the fires behind him, when he turned to face them, Jyuushiro saw for an instant an eyeshield of bone white and the shadow of the firelight through his chest.

Kira looked around, frowned and asked, "Where is Matsumoto? I've come to kill her."


	24. Byakuya: Necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Byakuya some things are simply necessary. -- by liralenli

**Byakuya: Necessity**

  


Byakuya looked for his death.

He looked for it in the buckles that held his strait jacket together. He looked for it in the stray items Szayel's attendents wore when they came to check on him. He looked for it between the padding on the floors and over the Sekkiseki stone that drained away the reiatsu he might have used to hasten his end again.

He looked for it in any trace he might find of Senbonzakura, the sword spirit who had been his constant companion since he had become self-aware. The spirit was gone. Shut away from him, somehow, by Aizen and his abominations, though after what he'd made the spirit do...

Byakuya frowned. It had been necessary.

His whole life was defined in terms of what was necessary and what was not. Now it was necessary that he die, before his powers could be used by the traitors, before he could be turned to their cause the way Rukia had been.

_Her heart had been missing. The hungry suck of reiatsu was a telling sign, to be sure, but his gaze kept returning to the gaping hole where Rukia's heart had been. It went clear through her slender body, and he could see the light on the other side when she slipped off the top half of her kimono._

_"Ni-sama," she husked so softly, and then she sounded exactly as Hisana had. "My love, come with me. We can be together now the way we never could have been in Soul Society. You have no clan anymore to lead, no reason to hold to a set of impossible standards."_

_She swayed close, so slender it seemed like a wind could blow her away. Where his hand had accidentally brushed the skin of her shoulder, she was so warm and soft._

Hisana had been his sole exception. The one thing he'd done for love, not duty. The one person he never understood nor reduced to what was or was not to be done for the Clan. He loved her, needed her, and she had, nonetheless, died.

He'd cried for her when he was alone, so that none would know that the Head of the Clan was so weak; but he knew in those dark hours that she was gone from him forever.

Rukia was not Hisana. Byakuya had never made that mistake, as much as everyone else might have assumed he did with how alike they had looked. She was his younger sister, and, as little as he had been able to express it or acknowledge it, she had honored him by being so. She was stronger than Hisana had ever been, though just as impetuous and just as inclined to taking people into her heart. Rukia, however, was more like Byakuya in hiding her heart, in letting herself be alone and standing aloof when she deemed it appropriate.

The Hollow Rukia didn't fool him either. Rukia always followed duty's sake, even going to the Tower of Solitude. That others had interfered did not sully the fact that she had done what was correct and proper.

That was why he knew it was necessary to kill the Hollow, even as part of him broke, that part had fallen in love with Hisana and had come to love the tiny girl-child he'd brought into his strict home. That was when he found he was glad he had so much practice shutting that part of him away.

_He had drawn, scattering Senbonzakura immediately. There was no reason not to release here, and he knew her strength._

Ice and snow can kill the buds of a sakura tree, it is far too easy to kill the flowering in its infancy. Some of the wonder and beauty of sakura blossoms lie in the fact that they bloom even with that risk. Senbonzakura, however, was no bud. Its spirit was that of blossoms already torn from the tree, the last whispered beauty of that which has already died, already gone, always in defiance of the powers that might have killed it aborning.

There is nothing as beautiful as a fallen sakura blossom on snow.

The beauty of Sode no Shirayuki had been eaten away as had her host's heart. The purity of the death she dealt, the whiteness of her snow and ice had curdled like bad milk. The flakes were like ash, the ice as brittle and yellowed as old bone.

They had clashed. Senbonzakura had flowed, the sorrow of what he was doing only sharpening each of the thousand blades. Blow by blow, slide by slide, exchange by exchange they fought, he as silent as he ever was, she with a mad cackle of a Hollow hungering to hold forever that which she had loved.

They went through Sode no Shirayuki's dances. Each more terrible than the last, each with a falter, misstep, and hesitation that she would never have done before Rukia's transformation. Byakuya brought them both down in the Third Dance, when the piercing blade had gone through his stomach rather than something more vital such as his heart or brain. The instant freeze stopped his blood from gushing out his wounds, and his hands kept moving, finishing the strike he started in the same instant the Hollow had started hers.

The mask shattered, showing Rukia's tear-stained face, both horrified at what she had done and relieved.

Byakuya whispered, "Go in peace, sister."

And Rukia scattered into ash.

He collapsed when the ice melted, and then tried to finish what Sode no Shirayuki had started. Sebonzakura, the weapon of his life, had agreed to the action, even as they both felt and shut away their own horror at dying, their own natural resistance to ending. They both knew they were alone here. He had gotten the message of the rout in the fake Karahura. He'd seen Zaraki die and Unohana leave, so he had no back up and no wish have Hollowfication forced upon him as Rukia clearly had. Sebonzakura had agreed, manifested, and while they both knew that Sebonzakura would most likely revert to nothing but a sword again on his receiving a mortal stroke, had consented to be his second.

He drew his sword, wrapped all but the last foot of the edge in the silk of his scarf. He heard the whisper of Sebonzkura's steel unsheathing, and he plunged the shining steel deep within himself, fighting the pain, fighting their fears, fighting to end this.

Byakuya had done what was necessary.

Byakuya had woken up restrained and surprisingly alive. His whole body hurt, and the weakness and pain of his abdomen had made him dizzy with any movement he attempted. He tried his damnedest to tear himself apart by raising his legs and twisting to the side, but an alarm went off and people in white coats had run in. They roughly added more restraints, a few hard slaps with reprimands that he'd simply ignored, fixed what he'd torn without giving him anesthetics, and then given him something that shoved him back into unconsciousness.

Byakuya hadn't been able to try that again. They healed him too quickly.

Time passed, and he endured, always looking for that way out, sometimes wondering when his time would run out.

Aizen came to him only once. Byakuya charged him, head first, using his teeth to unsheath Kyōka Suigetsu to throw himself upon the blade before Aizen neatly knocked him aside. Underlings piled on him.

Frowning, Aizen examined the cut along Byakuya's throat, the sheen of blood on the blade. "Not yet," Aizen said softly and left.

Byakuya swallowed a howl of rage, ashamed as his whole body trembled with it. The drawer on all his feelings shut tight. Aizen did not return, and Byakuya found himself glad he had more time to try.

Now Byakuya turned his natural patience, all his killing knowledge, toward ending his own life. He even let himself dare hope that if he were turned Hollow, the Hollow would fixate on this one desire he took to his end.

To die.


	25. Hanatarou: Signs Of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanatarou is probably the most stable and professional person around. -- by incandescens

**HANATAROU: SIGNS OF LIFE**

  


Hanatarou pushed the mop along the corridor. There was little actual effort involved. The corridors were as smooth as ice and as white as bone, and he suspected -- in fact, he was sure -- that the chore was unnecessary, and had been assigned merely to keep him busy and to remind him of his position here as a lowly servant.

Of course he and the others were putting maps together, based on where they'd been sent to clean or to heal, but the problem with that was the usual problem of trying to outguess Aizen. He had to know that they'd be working out the place's layout and planning escape.

So far the most popular theory (Hanatarou didn't gamble, so he hadn't taken an interest in the odds, but he gossiped as much as anyone else from Fourth Division, and what else was there to talk about? And even if they didn't actually have any possessions to gamble, everyone had agreed that it was the principle of the thing) was that Aizen was just waiting to catch someone in the wrong place or doing the wrong thing, and that it was all a big elaborate set-up so that they'd become over-confident. To which some of Fourth Division pointed out that Aizen could do what he wanted to them anyhow, but others (and Hanatarou with them) felt that Aizen was the sort of clinically psychotic sadist who would like to trick them into "earning" their punishment because that made it more fun for him.

He slopped the mop along, swivelling it from side to side with a slow efficiency that allowed him to keep half an eye out for Arrancar in a bad temper, escaped specimens, or worst of all, Kurotsuchi or Szayel looking for new experimental subjects. This particular corridor was close to Kurotsuchi's laboratories. He didn't always ask permission from Aizen before taking people away. He just sent dry little notes afterwards giving the names of the people who were gone, and Hisagi Shuuhei would come to hand the papers over before disappearing again, with a thinly closed mouth and eyes like hard stones.

Before Iemura's death, Hanatarou and some of the others had at least tried to speak to Hisagi; to chat with him, to try to gather information, just to find out what was going on. Now they simply nodded to him politely and let him leave as fast as possible. It wasn't just the disgust. It was not wanting to be next. Everyone still alive here, all of Fourth Division who hadn't given up yet, they all wanted to _live_.

Hanatarou wanted to live very badly indeed.

Unohana-taichou hadn't given up. She had believed there were still chances. She'd parleyed with Aizen and surrendered to him because she thought that there was still a chance of beating him, rather than fighting to the end or committing suicide. If she had honestly thought that there was no way of winning, then Hanatarou firmly believed she would have kept on fighting and hurt Aizen so very badly that he'd never have recovered from it. But she had chosen to stay alive, play for time, smuggle the wounded Captains out of Seireitei, all those things and more. She might have surrendered, but she hadn't really _surrendered_. Hanatarou knew there was a difference. He hadn't surrendered either.

Humming tunelessly to himself, he turned the corner and ran into an arm like an iron bar which picked him up and slammed him against the wall.

"Hanatarou, right?" Madarame Ikkaku snarled at him, keeping his voice low. "Don't squawk. We're here to help."

Through tear-blurred eyes, Hanatarou took in the group surrounding him. They were all in proper shinigami black, except for -- the Sixth Espada Grimmjow? He recognised Madarame, and Ogidou from his own Division, and Ise Nanao, and an older man he didn't know personally from Sixth. There was a younger man with them, a total stranger, but in shinigami uniform. "You're here," he whispered. "Thank you so much --"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll do that bit later," Madarame snapped. "We need information. Where's the closest place we can talk?"

"Down that corridor and the second door on the left is a storeroom," Hanatarou said, pointing confidently. "It's not very large, but it doesn't get used often so it should be safe."

\---

It was indeed not very large. There was only just room for seven people, let alone a mop and bucket (it would have been far too obvious to leave them out in the corridor), but it had a door which could be shut.

"The situation is this," Ise-fukutaichou said briskly. "We are here to rescue anyone we can and to attempt to kill Aizen. We need to make contact with the following people. If they are still alive. Inoue Orihime." The still unintroduced young man perked up at that. "Yadomaru Lisa. Hisagi Shuuhei. Possibly Kurosaki Ichigo. Can you tell us their current status?"

Hanatarou rubbed at his forehead nervously. "Inoue-san will be in her quarters. She often has Ulquiorra with her. He's the Fourth Espada -- well, he was before everyone died, so I suppose now he's the first or second technically, depending on what Kurosaki counts as, but everyone just calls him Ulquiorra-sama. Except for us, because we don't talk to him."

Ise-fukutaichou nodded. "As Grimmjow said." She glanced at the Sixth Espada, who was totally out of place there. In fact, he was so out of place in the group that Hanatarou hadn't actually noticed so far that --

Hanatarou gasped. "He doesn't have a hole!" he said, pointing at Grimmjow's visible and very normal-looking abdomen.

"Yeah," Grimmjow growled. "So I have this little problem. Wanna fucking make something of it?"

"No, not at all," Hanatarou said frantically. "I'm sure it looks very good on you and there's a perfectly good reason for it. Does it itch? Do you need antiseptics?"

Grimmjow gave a low purring growl, and Hanatarou decided that the patient was obviously in good health and didn't need any medical care. "Um!" he said brightly. "Yadomaru-san wanders around a lot. I can show you where her quarters are. I don't think she has any actual guards on her."

"Is there any general surveillance?" Ise-fukutaichou asked. "Cameras, remote viewing, that sort of thing?"

"We don't think so," Hanatarou said. It was something which Fourth Division had done their best to find out. "I mean, there _are_ cameras and stuff which can be used to watch, but we don't think Aizen uses it very much. Some of the Arrancar who've talked about it said that it was Ichimaru's favourite thing and that Aizen doesn't want other people touching it unless he feels it's necessary."

"Told you," Grimmjow said.

"Yes, yes," Ise-fukutaichou said, "but we had to check. Very good, let us try not to give him reason to turn it on. Hisagi? What about him?"

Hanatarou looked at the ground. "He's probably in his office or his quarters," he said tonelessly. "He doesn't have any actual guards on him, but he does have an Arrancar servant assigned to him."

"Something the matter?" Madarame asked.

Hanatarou shuffled a little. "Since he killed Iemura, none of us have tried to talk to him," he said. "We did hope that perhaps he might see he'd made a mistake siding with Aizen, but . . ."

"Killed Iemura?" Ogidou exclaimed. "How? Why?"

Ise-fukutaichou and Madarame were giving each other tense looks. "Give us the facts," Madarame said. "What happened?"

"We don't know," Hanatarou admitted. "We knew that Iemura was going to talk to him. He'd got a list of supplies to requisition, but he had said to some of us that he was going to try and reason with Hisagi. He actually sounded, well. Hopeful. Then a few hours later, Aizen had the body brought in. He said that Iemura had been foolish, and that he hoped none of us would be so foolish." He could still taste the slow burn of bile and terror and fury in his stomach. Why, why hadn't he done something, said something? But they had all of them lowered their eyes, all of them kept silent. "He didn't say anything about who'd killed him. But it had been a sword thrust. And there's only one person here who would have killed him with a sword."

The others exchanged glances. "I'll be clear with you," Madarame said. "Part of why we're here is that Hisagi got Boy Blue here and the Sado boy out of Las Noches, and he sent us word that he was running under fucking secret orders from Yamamoto-soutaichou and Komamura-taichou together, and that they told him to fake going over to Aizen. Course, thing is they're both dead now, so he could have been telling the truth, or he could have been lying. Now you tell me, Hanatarou. You've seen him recently. You know about Iemura. Would you think it could be true?"

Hanatarou shifted his weight defensively from one foot to the other. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I suppose that if he was playing a part well enough to fool Aizen, then he'd have to have been doing it very well. Maybe well enough to fool Iemura. Certainly well enough to fool us all. If Iemura did something like threaten Aizen or attack him, in front of Aizen, and if Hisagi had to defend himself . . ." He broke off, and touched the collar at his throat. "I don't know," he said again.

"What is that thing?" Ise-fukutaichou asked. "I can see there's some sort of kidou in it -- some sort of binding?"

Hanatarou drooped again. "They explode," he said, feeling as if he ought to apologise for it. "They put them on all of us. If we go outside our assigned areas, or if we disobey orders -- it happened to Sato --"

Ogidou swore, losing his smile for a moment.

Hanatarou shrugged weakly. "We've been trying to analyse them," he said. "It seems to be a shaped charge linked to a kidou trigger. It's not important, Ise-fukutaichou, really it isn't. You stopping Aizen, that's the important thing."

Ise-fukutaichou adjusted her glasses, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Thank you, Hanatarou. Grimmjow, why didn't you tell us about this?"

"Aww, who notices shit like that?" Grimmjow muttered. "Not as if I ever needed to go find a healer. Why should I be expected to know what kinda shit Aizen's pulling with them?" He did look vaguely uncomfortable, though.

"We'll get it fixed," Madarame said firmly. "Where's the Kurosaki kid hanging out these days?"

"At his quarters," Hanatarou said quickly. "Or in the sparring areas, most of the time. He kills a lot of Hollows that way. We don't see him in our area. And he's so different these days --"

Ise-fukutaichou nodded, cutting him off. "Hisagi first, I think," she said to Madarame. "We're going to have to risk it --"

"Hey, you got me," Grimmjow said. "I can still handle that Kurosaki kid. Maybe it's what I need. A proper fight to get the juices flowing again --"

"We need Inoue Orihime too," Ise-fukutaichou said. She blinked at a sudden thought. "Hanatarou, is the girl ever called to help with healing emergencies? Has it happened in the past?"

"Once or twice," Hanatarou said. He could see where she was going with this. "But Ulquiorra might come with her."

"But if we can swing Hisagi first, he can bodyguard her," Madarame said with satisfaction. "Then we have a nice little chat with her."

The unknown young man was smiling happily. Hanatarou was glad that someone here was happy. He was still too much in shock and disbelief to be anywhere near actually happy. Oh, certainly he would like to be happy, but he still felt that he might pinch himself and wake up to find that it was all a dream.

And he desperately wanted to say something unfair, something cruel and hurtful like _Why didn't you come earlier? Why couldn't you come earlier? Before so many of us died? Before Unohana-taichou herself . . ._

Madarame must have caught something in his expression. He clapped Hanatarou on the shoulder. "You've done a good job," he said. "I know we've got no fucking idea what sort of crap you've all been going through. We need one more push out of you and your friends, and then it's going to be over for good."

Hanatarou wished, just a little, that it had been Ogidou who had spoken like that to him, who'd remembered that Hanatarou was his own Division and colleague, instead of looking at him with an air that suggested _he_ would never have lowered himself to pushing a mop down here, but Ogidou had never been that sort of person. In fact, Ogidou had been more the sort of person who --

He pulled his mind away from those thoughts, and nodded to Madarame with gratitude. "Thank you," he said. "We'll all do what we can."

"How safe is this area?" Ise-fukutaichou put in. "Can we stay here much longer, or should we move on?"

Hanatarou blinked thoughtfully. "Kurotsuchi-taichou must be busy with something. We'd normally have heard some guards outside go by on the regular patrol route by now. Did you cause some sort of distraction?"

"Shit, I hope not," Madarame said. "We got in there -- Urahara Kisuke made a gate and dumped us down there in those corridors -- and we got out again as fast as oil in a hot pan. Didn't run across anyone, and I'm glad of that." But he didn't even glare at Hanatarou, in the way that any member of Eleventh would have done before.

"Maybe he's busy spying on Szayel again," Hanatarou guessed. "The two of them are paranoid about each other. It's very unhealthy."

Madarame shrugged. "All good by me. Maybe we'll get real lucky and they'll stab each other in the back while we're dealing with the real business."

"Third Seat Madarame," Hanatarou said nervously, "Ise-fukutaichou . . . where are the Captains? Are they following along once you've got a staging point secure?"

Everyone was looking at each other meaningfully, and Hanatarou felt a cold sweat of dread begin to pool down his spine.

"We are the mission force," Ise-fukutaichou said gently. "Ukitake-taichou is drawing out Ichimaru from Seireitei and dividing Aizen's forces. Soifon-taichou is heading the assault to retake Seireitei. Both of them are disabled. Urahara and Shihouin Yoruichi are preparing for attacks on Karakura." Her mouth twisted as if she was tasting something bitter. "We're all there is, Hanatarou."

"Way to make the guy feel depressed," Grimmjow said. He leaned over and punched Hanatarou in the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. You've got me on your side."

Hanatarou sank back into his usual state of mildly optimistic depression. It was almost a comfort. "We've managed to map most of Las Noches and the tunnels beneath it, Ise-fukutaichou," he offered. "Me and the rest of Fourth, that is. We've been comparing notes."

"Are you sure that Aizen hasn't been messing with you?" Madarame asked. "You know. His --" he waggled his fingers. "Thing."

"We compare notes," Hanatarou said. That was one of the first things they'd thought of. "We know which of us have seen his shikai in the past, so we're fairly sure of the maps that we've produced. While he can move the corridors round, we don't think he does it randomly." This didn't seem to be having quite the effect that he'd wanted. "So we're fairly sure of the current layout," he finished limply.

"So you can get us to Hisagi's quarters?" Madarame demanded.

"I coulda done that," Grimmjow muttered.

"I can," Hanatarou said proudly. "I'll go first down the corridor. That way if I run into anyone you'll have some warning." He looked around at them all. "Actually -- I could just say you're all from Fourth too, if we stick together and if you keep your reiatsu down, Ise-fukutaichou, Third Seat Madarame. Most of the Arrancar don't bother getting to recognise us. And if we run into --"

"Yeah," Madarame said, breaking that train of thought off before it could get any more depressing. "If we do run into someone who recognises us, then we're all screwed anyhow. Okay. All together, by the numbers. Inoue-kun, you're carrying the bucket."

"I could carry it," Hanatarou protested.

"New kid's job," Madarame said with a cheerful grin that brought back memories of Eleventh, and Fourth, and . . . Hanatarou almost blushed to admit it, but, well, happier times than these.

\---

After a nerve-wracking trip through the corridors of Las Noches, in which they didn't _quite_ meet any Arrancar but came very close to it, Hanatarou led the group of shinigami (and Grimmjow) to Hisagi Shuuhei's office door. With a glance behind to make sure that this was all right with Ise-fukutaichou and Madarame, he knocked on the door.

It was yanked open ferociously by a young-looking female Arrancar. Like a lot of the ones Aizen produced, she was wearing a miniscule outfit of white leather. Her hair stood up from her head in pale spikes. "He's busy," she snapped.

"But it's really very important --" Hanatarou tried.

The Arrancar folded her arms, and for a moment Hanatarou was strongly reminded (not that he would ever mention it, _especially_ not with her standing two feet behind him) of Ise-fukutaichou on days when Kyouraku-taichou had a sudden attack of the morning after the night before. "Unless it's something that Aizen-sama himself has requested, then the answer is no. He's busy."

"But it's really very, _very_ important," Hanatarou said.

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?" the Arrancar demanded. She sniffled and tried to make it look haughty. "I am the _personal servant_ of Hisagi-sama, who is the personal servant of Aizen-sama, and therefore I outrank you. Go away and, um, do something else instead."

"Um." Hanatarou wished that someone else was at the front of the group. "You mean you hadn't been told that we are here by Hisagi-sama's personal request?"

The Arrancar stared at him and sniffled again. "You are? But why would he want all you healers here? He's not ill!"

Inspiration struck. "No," Hanatarou said. "We're not here to see him. We're here to see you. At his personal request. Honestly, if you go in and tell him that the healers are here at his specific request which --"

"Ah, fuck it," Grimmjow said, and walked out from where he'd been hidden by the rest of the group. "You, what's your name, girl?"

The Arrancar paled, as far as it was distinguishable, and stiffened her knees. "Pagally, Grimmjow-sama."

"I'm here to see Hisagi in person, 'cause he asked me to, and these healers are with me. Now you can either let us all in and make Hisagi happy, or you can try standing there, in which case I am going to put my hand through you and make a big fucking mess all over the place with you, which is not gonna make your 'Hisagi-sama' happy. Hop to it, kid, or I'll give the boy here some real fucking reason to use his mop and bucket."

The Arrancar went sheet white. "I'll ask Hisagi-sama," she whispered, and vanished back into the room at a speed which rivalled Captain-level flash step, shutting the door in their faces.

Grimmjow smirked, and shrugged one shoulder. "You just gotta know how to talk to them," he informed the group.

Madarame glared at Grimmjow. Ise-fukutaichou was fiddling with her glasses, but her expression suggested that she would like to be glaring.

The door opened again nervously. "You can come in," the Arrancar murmured. She held it wide open for them to enter, which allowed her to stand behind it as if to shield herself from all of them, and particularly from Grimmjow.

Hanatarou had been in Hisagi's office before: nothing had changed. There were no windows: the room was, like most of Las Noches, lit solely by the pale walls. A single niche in the far wall stood empty, not even holding any sort of decoration. The only pieces of furniture were the large desk, a chair, a rubbish bin, and a filing cabinet. The sword stand on the desk was empty, and Hisagi was sliding the sheath of his zanpakutou back into his sash as they entered.

He hadn't actually thought how Hisagi might react to seeing them all here like this. If he had done, he'd have got out of the way faster.

"Hello, Hisagi-fukutaichou," Madarame said. He swaggered forward into Hisagi's personal space, leaning one fist on the desk. Ise-fukutaichou had quietly shut the door and thrown the bolt.

"H-Hisagi-sama?" the little Arrancar quavered. "These people --"

Grimmjow picked her up by one shoulder and held her close to his face. "Quiet," he told her, and put her down again with a thud.

Hisagi turned away from Madarame to look at the Arrancar. "Pagally, it's all right," he said hastily, before she could do more than blink. "This is -- ah, Grimmjow here has been on a very secret mission here for Aizen-sama, and it has to do with these people. None of the other Espada are briefed to know about it."

Pagally hesitated. It sounded plausible enough to Hanatarou, and he hoped that she would accept it. "But -- will you be all right -- that is, do you need me for anything, Hisagi-sama?"

Hisagi closed his eyes for a moment. Hanatarou could guess that he was weighing up risks. "Aizen-sama won't want anyone discussing this, Pagally, so for the moment I want you to go and wait in my quarters. I want to be able to tell him that you haven't heard any of this, if it comes to it." He nodded to a door on the other side of the room. "Please. I'll call you when I need you."

Pagally gave a determined little nod. "Yes, Hisagi-sama. Please do call if you need me." Looking at Grimmjow and the shinigami with eyes that combined fear and a strange sort of protectiveness, she shuffled across the room, taking the route that kept her farthest from Grimmjow, and through the door. It shut behind her with a little slam.

Madarame rolled an eye in the door's direction. "You figure you can trust her?" he asked Hisagi.

Hisagi was silent for a moment. "You know how many of the Arrancar here actually want to be here?" he asked. "Not many. Not many at all. A lot of them just wanted to stay Hollows. Or maybe they wanted to be just a _little_ bit more, just for one thing more than they already had, and now they're stuck here, and they're terrified of Aizen, and they're hungry, and they don't know what to do about it. She'd run back into the desert if she thought she could get away with it."

"Yeah, well." Madarame shrugged. "So we kill Aizen, they get to go back to being Hollows, everyone's happy. Incidentally, you look like shit."

Hisagi ran his hand through his hair. Hanatarou had noticed the white streak there before. It seemed to have grown larger, these last few weeks. "You live down here, you wouldn't look any better. So you trust me?"

"So far the evidence is in your favour," Ise-fukutaichou said crisply. "But I do have one question."

Hisagi raised an eyebrow.

"Iemura," she said.

Hisagi stiffened and his hand sank to the hilt of his zanpakutou. "I didn't have a choice," he said, too quickly, too easily. The words sounded rehearsed. "He came in here to try to get me to join his resistance. There were more of you, weren't there, Hanatarou?"

"There were," Hanatarou said. Carefully, he added, "There still are."

"He couldn't keep a secret." Hisagi's hand tightened around the hilt till his knuckles stood out white. "Look at you all, standing there, judging me. Iemura guessed that I'd been sent in as a spy, and I still don't know how the hell he guessed, but he'd have killed me if he'd said anything, and for pity's sake, he could not keep a secret to save his life!"

"No," Hanatarou said, and he could see Ogidou nodding as well. "But you didn't have to --"

"He'd have killed me doing it," Hisagi said, and the rising reiatsu around him hummed like a whirlwind. "Me and himself and all of you as well. I didn't have a _choice_."

Ogidou's smiling face set like steel, and his hand fell to his own zanpakutou hilt. "I have a right to settle this for my Division," he said. "I claim --"

Ise-fukutaichou's own reiatsu flared up in a precise blast of chill power, as smooth and edged as glass, and she stepped between the two men. "Ogidou, stand down and _hold your tongue_."

Hanatarou held his breath. Ogidou's eyes were very nasty as he stared at Ise-fukutaichou, but after a long moment he nodded and his hand fell to his side.

Ise-fukutaichou gave him a brief nod, then turned to Hisagi. "We accept your reasoning," she said. Her reiatsu smoothed down again, flattening to a tight surface, controlled and close. "For the moment, this matter is closed. We will submit it to Ukitake-taichou's judgment once we are all done here. Is this acceptable?"

Hisagi looked at her with an odd sort of dull surprise, as if she had given him some sort of mercy he didn't deserve, and then nodded. "Acceptable," he said. "Thank you, Ise-fukutaichou." He released his own grip.

"Acceptable," Ogidou echoed, but with that same ugly twist to his tone that Hanatarou had seen in his eyes. "Thank you for the judgment, Ise-fukutaichou."

"Alright, alright," Madarame said. "So we know where we are with that one. Let's get down to the real business. You got a way to kill Aizen?"

Hisagi slumped. "No. I was hoping you would."

Madarame looked disappointed, but not very surprised. "Figures," he said. "In that case, we were planning to turn some of the other people here. The Inoue girl. Yadomaru Lisa. The Kurosaki brat. Then we break into Aizen's private labs and get out whoever it is he's holding prisoner in there. Then we figure out what to do next. How does that sound?"

Hisagi opened his mouth, and for a moment Hanatarou just _knew_ he was going to say that it all sounded very vague. But instead he said, "It sounds good. I think Inoue Orihime would cooperate if we can get her away from Ulquiorra. But Yadomaru Lisa's easy. I've spoken to her just recently. She wants in on any sort of strike against Aizen. I'll tell Pagally to go and fetch her, say that I want to talk to her."

Madarame leaned against the desk. "You figure you can trust _her_?"

"Aizen took her and her friends captive by force," Hisagi said. "I got the real details over lunch a while back. He likes to have someone to talk to." There was a sort of withdrawal to his face, a kind of numb resignation like a trapped animal or a man who'd just been given a diagnosis of a fatal disease. "There wasn't even any sort of surrender. Some of them died. And he did that thing, the Vizard-creation, to her and the others in the first place. They're holding one of her friends hostage elsewhere --"

"Which one?" Ise-fukutaichou demanded.

"Ushoda Hachigen," Hisagi said. "I think he's in Aizen's private labs. They've both been told that if one of them misbehaves, the other . . ." His shrug made it obvious. Hanatarou winced at the thought. "But if we're doing a quick strike on Aizen's labs anyhow, we can get him out in the process. He was a kidou expert, you know. Perhaps _he'd_ have some idea about how to kill Aizen."

"Right," Madarame said firmly. "He's on the list. You send your Pagally girl to go fetch Yadomaru Lisa, and then we'll figure out how to get hold of the Inoue girl."

"I could go and fetch her," the shinigami whom Madarame had called Inoue-kun said tentatively. "Nobody here will recognise me, and I could claim to be a healer, and --"

"And the moment she sees you and _she_ recognises you, it all goes up the creek without a paddle," Madarame said firmly. "I know you're her brother, kid, but keep it under control for the moment. I met the girl. She's a sweetheart. But if she sees you and one of the Espada's watching her at the time, we are all blown sky high. Sit here and chew on it, and that's an order."

"Yes, sir," the young man muttered.

"Inoue Sora," the shinigami from Sixth muttered in Hanatarou's ear. "Her brother."

Hanatarou nodded quietly. He remembered now, Kuchiki-san telling him about how her brother had turned Hollow and how cleansing him had been one of Kurosaki-san's first real battles. It was comforting to be able to remember when things had been simpler. When they had worked.

Hisagi walked across to rap on the door that Pagally had vanished through. "Pagally," he called. "I have a job for you."

The little Arrancar appeared without a moment's hesitation. She might not have actually been listening at the door, but she couldn't have been far from it either. "Yes, Hisagi-sama?" she asked eagerly.

"Go and fetch Yadomaru Lisa," Hisagi told her. "Tell her it's about the discussion we had the other day. She'll know what that means." He gave her a deliberately meaningful look. "If you see other people, act normally, but don't stop to talk with them. This is a high-level meeting and is secret from everyone except those at the very highest level. You understand?"

Pagally nodded again. She seemed reassured that she was part of the charmed circle of high-level meetings and important secrets, even if only peripherally. Hanatarou couldn't really blame her. "Yes, Hisagi-sama!" She almost saluted, then dashed for the outer door, taking care to avoid Grimmjow.

"Should I go back and alert the rest of Fourth?" Hanatarou asked. The thought of actually being able to give all his friends some sort of concrete news, _genuine_ help, almost lifted him off the ground.

Madarame shook his head. "Not till we know what's going on for sure, and then you'd better keep it to people you know can keep their mouths shut. We don't want any more . . . situations." The look he gave Hisagi wasn't quite an open challenge, but it wasn't friendly.

"Yes, Third Seat Madarame," Hanatarou said with a sigh. "But about these collars --"

"Let me look at it," Ise-fukutaichou said. "I know that Fourth are usually kidou-proficient, but I may have more practice in using it in a combat situation or with timed delays. Sit down here," she nodded to Hisagi's chair, "and stay still. Ogidou, I'd appreciate your opinion as well."

Ogidou's expression remained smiling and helpful. "Of course, Ise-fukutaichou," he said. He stood to Hanatarou's right as Hanatarou sat down, and began prodding at the collar thoughtfully, faint scratches of light crawling across the back of his hand.

"Please don't try to take it off!" Hanatarou said nervously. "We tried, and --" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. _Surely_ they must understand.

"Please try to relax, Seventh Seat Hanatarou," Ise-fukutaichou said firmly. "This is going to be strictly non-invasive."

Hisagi looked at his occupied chair, then looked away again, and wandered over to Grimmjow and Madarame. "So," he said. "Did Sado get through all right?"

Grimmjow nodded. "Tough kid. Not _real_ tough, but not bad for a human. We left him with Bitch-sama --"

"Shiba Kuukaku," Madarame translated for the rest of the room.

"-- so she's probably feeding him up. That sort of bitch from hell always gets motherly if you don't smack them down hard." Grimmjow smirked.

"How are the others?" Hisagi asked. Hanatarou focused on him. It took his attention off the way that Ise-fukutaichou and Ogidou were leaning over him and prodding at his collar. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou . . ."

He trailed off. Madarame was looking at him with the sort of quiet detachment that only went with one sort of news these days. "I thought they got her away safely," Hisagi said softly.

Madarame shook his head. "Sorry," he said.

Hisagi jerked his head to one side. He didn't say anything. Despair boiled off him like heat in a desert, tasting of salt and blood.

"Hey," Madarame said quickly, "keep it down, for fuck's sake. We can't afford anyone coming in here."

"You think they'd notice?" Hisagi snapped. "That's how everything tastes down here. But I suppose you wouldn't know, running around in Seireitei and still damn alive while she --"

He caught himself. "Forget it," he said roughly. "Better dead than some of the things that have happened."

Hanatarou lowered his eyes. He understood how Hisagi felt, really he did. But he hadn't expected Hisagi to be quite so _harsh_ about it. It didn't help anyone, and he didn't think they'd ever been that close that he'd heard of . . .

Madarame shrugged. "You weren't to know," he said. "And that bastard Ichimaru doesn't know, either. He's chasing a rumor of her at the moment. That's how Ukitake-taichou is luring him out into the trap."

"I can understand why he wouldn't believe she's dead," Hisagi said. "I . . . find it hard to as well."

The office door opened with brisk authority, as though the person on the other side of it had thought about slamming it but decided not to at the last moment. Yadomaru Lisa (Hanatarou had seen her from a distance but not been introduced) was standing there, splendid and underdressed in white, with Pagally hovering a nervous yard behind her.

"I am constantly at Hisagi-sama's disposal," Yadomaru Lisa began very formally, clearly having already prepared her sarcasm. Then she took in the rest of the room. She barely even reacted, but her eyes glinted narrow and sharp behind her glasses. "Isn't this a nice little get-together," she said, kicking the door shut behind her and Pagally, "and isn't this a -- NANAO-CHAN!"

She flung herself across the room and embraced Ise-fukutaichou in a wildly exuberant hug that had her miniskirt flying out far too much for Hanatarou's comfort. "Oh, you clever girl," she was saying, "you're all grown up and I always _knew_ you had it in you to get all the way to the top. Didn't I tell you when I used to read to you --"

"Nanao-chan, huh," Madarame said, smirking.

"Used to read to her," Hisagi said, looking at the ceiling. "No wonder she got into bad habits so fast."

Ise-fukutaichou tried to glare at them, but it was clear that her heart wasn't in it. She shut her eyes and swallowed, throat working. "Yadomaru-fukutaichou," she said. "It's -- it's very good to see you, to see you again . . ." She gave up on talking, and returned the embrace shyly. "I thought . . ." she murmured into Yadomaru Lisa's shoulder. "I thought you had died, he said that you had died and that you had been very brave . . ."

"It wasn't his fault," Yadomaru Lisa said, releasing Nanao and giving her a pat on her shoulder. "Don't you worry about him. Now I'm assuming this is rescue plan go go go, am I right?"

Pagally swept a trembling gaze around the room. "Hisagi-sama . . . is this really a secret mission for Aizen-sama? Or is it something different?"

Hisagi gave Yadomaru Lisa a dirty look. "It is a very secret mission," he said unconvincingly. "Now if you'll just go into my quarters again --"

"But they're real shinigami!" Pagally pointed at everyone. "And -- and Grimmjow-sama doesn't feel like an Arrancar! And he doesn't even have a proper hole any longer!"

"Kid, when they picked you for this guy's fraccion, they sure didn't do it for your fucking perception," Grimmjow said.

Hisagi took a step forward. "And what are you going to do about it -- Pagally-kun?"

Pagally bit her lip. "I'm . . . going to ask you what you want me to do next, Hisagi-sama."

"Are you sure?" Hisagi asked.

She looked around again nervously. "I suppose I could run away if you want. I could get quite a long way into the desert and they might not catch me. But you know that even if I did try and tell someone about this, they'd kill me alongside you. It's not because I _like_ you." She glared up at him with big pale eyes. "I want -- I want --"

"You want Aizen gone," Hanatarou surprised himself by saying.

"Yes!" She put one hand to her mouth, horrified at the blasphemy. "I want Aizen-sama -- Aizen-s -- I want Aizen gone."

"Do a lot of the others feel like you 'bout that, kid?" Madarame asked.

"I don't know," Pagally answered. "I think maybe -- but nobody would dare say it." She looked around again, losing a little of her confidence.

Hisagi patted her on the shoulder. "Pagally-kun, if you want, I'll give you a sealed set of orders that'll get you past the guards and let you get out into the deep desert. They won't find you there. But if you are truly on our side --"

"I said I was, didn't I?" Pagally snapped. "What do you want me to do?"

"The _next_ thing we need to do is get hold of Inoue Orihime," Ise-fukutaichou said. She was adjusting her glasses more than necessary. "Yadomaru-fukutaichou --"

"Call me Lisa," Yadomaru Lisa said. "Can't have two vice-captains of Eighth. It's not the done thing."

Ise-fukutaichou paused and swallowed again. "Yadomaru-sempai, how do you think we can best get hold of Inoue Orihime?"

"Not a problem," Grimmjow said. "I'll go challenge Ulquiorra. While I'm keeping him busy, you get the woman out of the way." He grinned. There was something a little febrile and desperate about the way he showed his teeth.

Ise-fukutaichou and Madarame exchanged glances again. Ise-fukutaichou was the one to speak. "But if he sees you as you are now, and if you _can't_ kill him, then there's too much risk of Aizen being alerted. I'm not sure that risk is acceptable."

"You challenging me, woman?" Grimmjow demanded.

"He was Fourth Espada, you told us," Madarame said a little wearily. "I'm guessing you couldn't take him before, or you'd have been Fourth and he'd have been Sixth. Right?"

"I'm different now," Grimmjow muttered. His fingers ran over the hilt of his sword, stroking it as a man might absently stroke a cat's head.

"I could go ask for her," Yadomaru Lisa suggested. "I don't have any orders about speaking to her, so Ulquiorra shouldn't have any reason not to let me take her for a walk around the place. Then we can meet up with you and take things from there."

"W-what about the others?" Hanatarou asked nervously. "Kurosaki-san and -- and Ayasegawa-san?"

He knew that was going to get a reaction. He just hadn't realised quite how bad it would be. Madarame gave him the sort of glare that stripped flesh from bone. "You think I've got anything to say to Ayasegawa? Sure I want to know why he turned traitor, but --"

"Oh, I know that," Hisagi said with a great weariness. "I worked that out a while back."

"You did?" Madarame said. "I guess Aizen told you in one of your little chats?"

"No." Hisagi gave Madarame a look that Hanatarou found hard to interpret. "He never told you, then? Never told you what his zanpakutou really did?"

"Stop fucking around," Madarame said. "What are you trying to get at?"

"His zanpakutou sucks energy," Hisagi said flatly. "He tried it on that Arrancar. He got screwed. He's half Hollow now. He thinks like a Hollow. He moves like a Hollow. He can't think straight when he's away from that Espada. Shame he tried sucking the wrong person's energy for once, isn't it?"

Madarame stared at him. "Come on," he said. "Quit it. That's just --"

"How do you think I know?" Hisagi was practically spitting out the words. "He never did it where anyone else would _see_. He never did it to anyone who'd _tell_. He didn't want people _finding out_." His voice made something obscene of the words. "He did it to me once, and left me just lying there, that day when Aizen revealed himself, because he knew that I wouldn't want anyone else to know about it. He was afraid that you lot in Eleventh wouldn't want him round any more if you knew what he could do. And you know what? He was right."

"Fuck you, asshole," Madarame said, and swung a punch at Hisagi's belly. Hisagi dodged and slammed his elbow into Madarame's face. Madarame barely slowed, grabbing at Hisagi's jacket, and the two of them went down on the floor, slamming blows at each other. Their reiatsu flared in uncontrolled spurts, too bitter to be controlled, too angry to be focused. Pagally hopped around the edges of the fight, her hands waving helplessly.

Ise-fukutaichou was frowning at the air in front of her, not bothering to watch the men. "No wonder Aizen let him live," she said. "It'd be one more step on his way to his ultimate goal of combining Hollow and shinigami. But that would imply that if this current energy flow could be stopped, if Ayasegawa's own spirit could be purified, maybe even --"

"Hold it," Yadomaru Lisa said sharply, sniffing the air. The light laid a cold sheen across her face like porcelain. Suddenly urgent, she stepped forward to kick the men apart. "Get off each other, you morons! Can't you feel --"

Then Hanatarou felt it too, and so did the others in the room. It was a cold ripple of reiatsu, not icy like Hitsugaya-taichou's had been, but the sucking chill of the depths of the sea. Something moved in that heavy darkness, an approaching hunger that slid through it in passionless detachment.

The door burst open, fragments of it flying to embed themselves in the walls. Tia Harribel stood there, the air shifting round her in thick currents, and Ayasegawa Yumichika was a step behind her, smiling happily, his eyes lost in dreams.

"Hello, Ikkaku," he said, and waved a floppy hand. "I always knew you'd come."

\---  



	26. Ensemble: Mad Science In Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which too many cooks spoil the broth, sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, and everything boils over. -- by incandescens

**Mad Science In Motion**

  


Only Urahara Kisuke could have been so brazen, so arrogant, so unbelievably _crass_ as to open a Gate between worlds near Kurotsuchi Mayuri's own laboratory. What, did the man think that Mayuri lacked the wit to perceive it? Did he believe that Mayuri was as imperceptive and as dull as any fool of the Gotei 13? Did he honestly consider it possible that Mayuri might not have detected it within minutes of its opening and now be considering how to use it?

Truth to tell, it had possibly been a little stagnant down here of late. Aizen had perhaps not lived up to his original promises. Oh yes, Mayuri knew that he was keeping secrets. He knew that there were specimens -- valuable, valuable specimens -- in Aizen's _private_ laboratory, however much Aizen might claim otherwise. And what about the Inoue girl? Or the Kurosaki boy? Were they really so important to Aizen that he couldn't be allowed a few hours a day with them?

Mayuri stroked his chin. More than that, he knew that he was being _used_. Aizen was playing him off against that Espada who vaunted himself as a scientist -- bah, the creature knew nothing of the true meaning of the word. There was a certain raw cunning there, admittedly, a facile ability to steal from others, and an imitative tendency which might perhaps convince the casual onlooker that a man of science stood before them.

Even Urahara Kisuke was a more genuine scientist than _that_ fellow.

"Nemu!" he said.

Half a dozen of them moved to stand behind him. "What is Mayuri-sama's wish?" one inquired.

He did not strike her. That was for when a Nemu displayed stupidity. Since she could not reasonably know what he planned to do, asking him his intention was a proper response. "Ten of you are to remain on duty here. Monitor the schedule, continue the experiments. If Aizen-sama asks where I am, inform him that I am investigating a possible source of information."

A couple of the Nemu frowned. Some of them still had difficulty with the concept of variable hierarchy and information disclosure. The variation between Nemu was fascinating, and he intended to investigate it further at some point in the future. Most of them nodded, however, showing a proper understanding of his orders.

"Two of you are to fetch the experimental Garganta modification device from the private laboratory," he continued. "Fifteen of you are to obtain docilisation collars and fit them on experiments B-19, C-15, and D-1 to D-13."

A single Nemu raised her hand. "Does Mayuri-sama have any specific instructions for me?"

"A cup of tea," he snapped. "And be quick about it. We move out in five minutes."

It would have been three minutes, but it might take longer than expected to manipulate the open gate into something which would be more convenient to his needs. He hadn't got to where he currently was by being careless.

And while Aizen had ordered him to refrain from any specimen-collecting missions to Karakura for the moment, surely Aizen could be persuaded that such an opportunity shouldn't have been missed. Why, Aizen was busy elsewhere at the moment. There had simply been no time to inform him. He made a mental note to dispatch a Nemu with a post-dated note and request to investigate. Surely Aizen himself would understand that it was easier to gain forgiveness than to ask permission.

He was sure that Aizen would be very understanding if Mayuri were to present him with some suitable gifts. Karakura was brimming with potential. He rubbed his hands together, lips curling into a wide grin. There were the Vizards who had managed to escape. There was the Kurosaki brat's bloodline. There was Tsukabishi Tessai and the others who clustered fawningly round Urahara Kisuke. There was _all_ Urahara's research. Oh, the data, the data . . . he salivated at the thought. And there was Urahara Kisuke himself.

Why, if he hadn't excised certain organs as unnecessary, they would have been positively twitching at the very idea.

\---

Szayel stared at his monitor screens and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

He felt very strongly that what was about to happen wasn't _his_ fault. It was simply a matter of move and countermove. He couldn't allow Kurotsuchi Mayuri to improve his position without taking steps to improve his _own_ position. Why, if you looked at it from that point of view, it was all Kurotsuchi's fault anyhow.

Aizen wasn't around to complain to, or to report Kurotsuchi's behaviour to, or to beg indulgences from, or anything like that. No. Aizen was in seclusion, hard at work. Szayel could understand that. He could appreciate that. He could take the thought apart with sharp knives and look at all its implications. Aizen was not _here_ , which meant that only the last person standing got to tell the story, present the information, give the report, and get the rewards.

He giggled lightly to himself as he rose to his feet. Creeping things in the corners of his laboratory rose to their full height and assumed humanoid form, sliding to await his orders.

Everything here did exactly what he wanted it to. Precisely and perfectly. Now and for ever and ever . . .

. . . he was giggling again.

There was nothing wrong with giggling. It was healthy to enjoy one's self. He was probably the healthiest person in Hueco Mundo, not bound by neuroses, not crippled by self-limiting ideals, not restricted by guilts or by loyalties. The only true self was the unbound self, the _hungry_ self. Even Kurotsuchi Mayuri (another giggle) didn't grasp that.

But right now, right this minute, if he didn't counter Kurotsuchi's move, then his own position would be weakened. Kurotsuchi was attacking Karakura. If he was successful, then his stock of experimental subjects and his available data would be drastically increased. This couldn't be allowed. Szayel had to take steps to maintain parity.

Of course, there _was_ the possibility that Kurotsuchi would suffer a painful defeat in Karakura -- that he would come back weakened, with diminished forces, lessened enough for Szayel to absorb and devour. And the probability of this possibility increased greatly with Szayel's own presence there. It became a near certainty.

He would gobble up little Nemu! One, two three! He would toss her in the air and let his creatures _snap_ her up in a single mouthful! Would the legs twitch? He rather thought they would. And then he would eat them (food chain, food chain, the food chain was a wonderful thing) and he would expand, he would grow, he would shine.

Kurotsuchi would be a bigger mouthful. Kurotsuchi would take weeks -- months, maybe -- to harvest all the data, to gather all the information, each savoury drop of it as good as a soul in his mouth.

And all the other little bright squirmy souls in Karakura. How they'd squeal!

Szayel hummed to himself as he drew up a rapid set of orders for his subordinates. Everything would be under control, totally under control, beautifully, perfectly under control while he went to Karakura. And there he'd kill people and eat people and get all sorts of lovely specimens. Simplicity was an important part of mental health. Sometimes one wanted complicated pleasures. Sometimes one needed to go straight for the heart and carefully dissect it out still beating, taking care to -- oh, there he was, getting distracted again. Never mind.

He fondled his sword and smiled. What a beautiful day, what a lovely, sparkling, glorious, beautiful day.

\---

"A word with you," Tessai rumbled from behind Urahara. He'd dropped the 'Shopkeeper' for the moment. Urahara was convinced that Tessai only did it to annoy him anyhow. Tessai had never wanted to be in charge of _anything_ : he'd always preferred spending his time on research. That hadn't changed in a hundred years. Of course, Urahara preferred research to management himself, but the difference between the two of them was that Urahara didn't like anyone else being in charge. Tessai was prepared to take orders. Urahara was frequently and selectively deaf to orders.

"Of course," Urahara said, turning away from the Gate to face Tessai. The children were back in the shop, and Kensei and Mashiro should be with them, or nearby -- close enough if there was an emergency, and reducing the odds that they'd do something reckless. Yoruichi had stepped back inside to get something to drink. He expected her back out again at any moment.

Tessai glanced back at the entrance to the shop for a moment, which suggested to Urahara that he'd chosen a moment to ask questions when their dear Yoruichi-chan was out of earshot. "All right," he said. "What's up?"

Urahara flicked out his fan. "Only the usual tension at moments like this --" he began.

Tessai plucked the fan from his fingers and tossed it to one side. "Enough," he said. "Kisuke, you know I trust you -- do me the courtesy of returning it, please."

When Tessai went back to his roots, to the speech patterns that they'd been taught together as children in a noble house, he was serious. Urahara discarded the prepared facile excuse. "You can surely see what it is," he said. "It's a trap."

Tessai rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Which you neglected to mention to our just-departed expedition."

"It hardly involves them," Urahara pointed out. "If Kurotsuchi does take the bait and come through to investigate, then it gets him out of their way, and we're prepared to handle him in here. If it doesn't -- well, nothing lost, and no need to bother them with the possibility."

"Hm." Tessai looked round the cavern. "It's true that we've done enough work here in the past that it'd make an ideal ambush site and killing ground. You were going to tell us about this before he arrived, weren't you?"

There was something very resigned in his voice, and Urahara wondered if possibly he had been a little too secretive about his plans. "Of course," he said quickly. "What good is an ambush if we aren't prepared? But you know Kurotsuchi. He's not going to rush into a situation like this. We can expect at least ten minutes to examine the gateway and prepare, followed by a couple of scouts, followed by a group in force to hold the gate before he comes through. I know how he thinks. He won't risk himself in untried territory."

Tessai nodded slowly as he listened. "That sounds reasonable," he said. "I'll go and fetch Yoruichi and the Vizards so that you can explain it to them." _And I'll let you handle exactly why you didn't tell her beforehand,_ his tone conveyed. "Is there anything else?"

"No," Urahara said cheerfully. "I think you've about grasped it all."

Tessai turned to stride towards the shop entrance.

Moved by some impulse he couldn't quite name or identify, Urahara said, "Wait. You do know that I would have -- that is, you don't seriously think I would have let it all go ahead without telling you, do you?"

Tessai sighed, and his wide shoulders moved in a shrug. He didn't look back. "I'm sure you would have told us when the time was right," he said.

Urahara nodded, glad that Tessai had grasped the point. "It's just habit. You know. You know _me_."

Tessai nodded. "Yes, Kisuke. Now I'd better go and fetch the others, if we're to be ready for this ambush."

"Excellent idea," Urahara said, and turned back to survey the Gate again. It was steady in a holding pattern, designed to conserve energy while holding the link firmly between locations. Between his own researches and Soul Society's records, he'd managed to create something more stable than the Hollow Garganta, and without the hindrances of intra-universal cleaning cosmic blobs. He was really rather proud of it.

Best of all, he knew the enemy. He and Kurotsuchi had worked together for years, after all, and he didn't think the man had actually changed. Got worse, perhaps, but that wasn't the same as changing. Kurotsuchi was fundamentally cautious, however driven he might be by the lust for knowledge or revenge. He'd never go somewhere without testing the ground first, so they could expect a probe or two before the scientist came oozing through. On the other hand, Kurotsuchi was also fundamentally incapable of actually letting go of anything -- a datum, a grudge, or an opportunity. Once he started investigating, he wouldn't let himself retreat.

Urahara supposed that perhaps there was something admirable in there, at root, or something which might be admirable if put to better purposes.

He frowned. Something was beginning to vibrate in the interior of the Gate's harmonic structure. He leaned in closer to studying it, drawing his hat down on his brows as he stared into the heart of the patterns of light. How very unusual and indeed _original_ \-- it seemed that someone on the other end was actively trying to shift the Gate locus on his (Urahara's) end while holding his (presumably Kurotsuchi's) end stable. Such a procedure would require a high expenditure of energy, but it would be like taking a wax seal off a document with a hot knife, and could simply slide the locus along a theoretical axis like a sliding door along a groove, except that one was shifting the _opening_ rather than the door, a philosophical point which Kurotsuchi (assuming it was him) would no doubt have derided rather than considered as an artistic option . . .

"Kisuke," Yoruichi demanded, arriving behind him in a flurry of movement, "what the hell is happening to the Gate?"

Urahara adjusted his hat and turned to face her. Her eyes were flaming, and her fury shone round her in a glorious corona. "I may possibly have made a mistake," he admitted.

And the Gate moved.

\---  



	27. Momo, Isane: We Have Met the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months, Hinamori Momo has wished she could see her lost friends again. She should have been more careful what she wished for. -- by Sophia_Prester

**Momo, Isane: We Have Met the Enemy**

  


_"There's something else you should know."_

She knew. Even as Ukitake spoke, Momo knew. Even before Kira entered the library, she felt him. She felt what he had become.

"Where is Matsumoto? I've come to kill her."

"Kira-san?" Momo tried to tell herself that this _thing_ standing in front of them was not Kira--

(So much was the same. She saw the glint of a blue, blue eye through the slit in his mask, the blond of his hair, the angle of his jaw, the shape of his mouth, the way he stood, his hands. Funny, how she could recognize him by his hands, even now.)

\--and wanted to cry when she realized it was easier to believe it was not him than to hope that it was.

"You've come to kill Matsumoto?" Ukitake-taichou asked, as calmly as he might ask if Kira had just stopped by to invite him to tea.

Kira cocked his head to one side as if unsure of what he had just heard. There was nothing but dim puzzlement in those blue eyes. "Yes," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "Where is she?"

And his reiatsu...

"Shattered and put back wrong," she whispered, earning a sharp glance from Ukitake. _Oh, Kira. How could you let them do this to you?_

And this had been done _to_ him. She knew that. He had not chosen this. The truth was a shattered stone in her chest. She had wanted to see him again, him and Shiro-chan, but not like this. Never like this.

Why had she ever hoped that he had been forced to follow Ichimaru against his will? There was no hope in this.

"Really?" Ukitake raised his eyebrows so high he had to be doing it on purpose. "That surprises me, Kira-kun. I thought Ichimaru-taichou was looking forward to seeing her again. They were always quite close, weren't they?"

Hatred twisted Kira's mouth. Momo told Tobiume to be ready.

_Wabisuke isn't there anymore,_ Tobiume said. _He's there, but he's not there. It's all mixed up. It's all wrong._

Momo knew what the sword meant. She turned as much as she dared towards Isane, who looked desperately like she wanted to ask Momo if she was okay. Momo couldn't answer that. Not yet. She let her hand drop to Tobiume's hilt. This would have to be fast. And not just because of Wabisuke.

Any second now.

It would be a mercy, she pleaded to herself. But how could she do this?

She had to do this. And she would. She would think about later... later.

"Ichimaru-sama doesn't need _her_." Kira spat out the words.

"Oh? Then why did he come all the way out here?" Ukitake was innocence itself as a sweep of his hand indicated their secluded, decaying retreat. "If he simply wanted her dead, wouldn't he trust you enough to send you out here on your own? He does trust you, doesn't he?"

Kira stood silent, not knowing how to respond. But Momo saw the slight tension, the barest lowering of the hips, the bending of the knees. As she expected, his right shoulder dropped forward a fraction of an inch.

Ukitake smiled, kind as kind could be. "Perhaps you simply misunderstood your orders. Why don't we wait until Ichimaru-taichou comes inside, and we can check with him?"

_There_.

Momo leapt before Ukitake had finished speaking. The tells were the same as they had been in the Academy. The old Kira, her Kira, had learned them and how to suppress them. This _thing_ had become sloppy.

Momo didn't have time release her shikai. Kira went for Ukitake with his bare hands and Momo swung out and up with a stroke that should have removed both hands at the wrist.

Instead, her own hands stung as calluses ripped, and she thought her wrists would splinter as Tobiume nearly torqued out of her grasp. She had struck something much harder than flesh.

"It's not his zanpakutou! It's him!" she warned the others. Tobiume was much heavier than she should have been. Far more than twice as heavy. She adjusted her grip to compensate, ignoring the pain from the torn skin. "Look at his hands!"

Where there had been bare flesh a moment before, spurs of bone ( _oh, what have they done to you?_ ) jutted from Kira's wrists. He looked at them, puzzled, poking at the spot where they had not erupted fast enough to spare him a nasty gouge across his left wrist.

She heard Ukitake hurriedly whispering something to Isane, and Kira's head snapped up.

"Where is she? Why won't you tell me where she is?" The tells were there again. Momo was ready for him--or thought she was.

She got in front of him, but instead of striking straight out, he raised his fist for a downward blow that would snap her neck under the weight of her own bashed-in skull.

Someone--it had to be Takano--tried to push her out of the way and shield her, but it was too late. All he did was knock her flat across Ukitake's desk.

Too late, except that something happened. The blow didn't connect. For just a moment, the thing in front of her was _Kira_ , and not some patched-together mockery of him.

Kira was moving too fast to pull the blow, but he wrenched himself to the side, his fist cratering the desk barely a hand's width from her head.

He scuttled back, whimpering in horror. He looked at her, _Kira_ looked at _her_ , eyes wide behind the mask.

Momo struggled to get up, but Takano was slow to get off her back. "Kira! Wait! If that's you, if that's really--oh _no!_ "

A splintering creak came from the floor beneath the desk. The massive wooden desk that was now many, many times heavier than it had been a moment ago.

She and Takano tried to scramble away, but the floor gave way beneath them.

A painfully loud crash. Two successive jolts that nearly shook her to pieces. A few seconds of near-blackness. Then it was over and Momo sat up, trying to ignore the full-body ache and straining to see through the cloud of debris. She thought she had heard someone calling her name, but she couldn't be sure. She was pretty sure it wasn't Takano. The chivalrous idiot had the wind knocked out of him when he had tried to break her fall.

"Are you all right, Newbie?" she asked. She coughed to clear the dust from her lungs.

She got a groan by way of answer. Momo looked up. The dust still roiled above them, but she could see the hole left by the desk. Holes. They'd punched through two floors to the basement. A pale shape flashed across space above them, and she heard a thump and scuffle.

"We have to get back up there!" she said, but when she tried to stand up, Takano grabbed her arm.

"Don't move!" he rasped. He didn't point, but his gaze directed Momo's to the packet by her foot. "That's one of the charges we planted."

Momo inched her foot back, then stood up very carefully, hoping there weren't any other bombs hidden among the wreckage. "I guess we're lucky the desk wasn't any further back in the room." She felt the shake of a hysterical giggle in her voice. Why wasn't she huddled in a corner, screaming?

It didn't matter. She wasn't. Yet. She had a fleeting thought that Ikkaku would be pleased by that.

"No." Takano sat up slowly, and was in enough pain that he accepted when Momo held out her hand to help him to his feet. "Not lucky. Look," he groaned.

It took her a moment to realize the significance of all those tangled cords and the tattered strips of what looked like poetry hanging from the basement ceiling. For some reason, scraps of the destroyed incantations had started fluttering upwards, but that wasn't important. What was it Soi Fong-taichou had said, during one of their recent strategy sessions?

Ah, yes. _No plan survives contact with the enemy._

"There are other fuses, right?" she asked. "And those weren't the only seals, were they?" She wiped her hands on her hakama, wincing when this pulled at the torn calluses.

"Dunno. Ichimaru's goons triggered a lot more of our mines than we planned for, and I think the cascade reaction Shiba set up for us is pretty well fucked. The big mothers will have to be triggered manually. You remember where they are, if you have to?"

She nodded, and hefted Tobiume. The sword was still far too heavy, but she could at least lift it well enough to aim. "I assume a fireball would set them off?"

"Spectacularly."

"Good. I'm heading up to the foyer--that's the fastest way back up to Ukitake-taichou. Skip every third stair?"

Takano nodded. "The landing is unmined. I'd jump it if I were you. But I wouldn't try jumping from here to the ground floor just now. I have no idea what's been jostled. I'll see what I can do to fix the damage, but..." He shrugged.

"Thanks." She had been shown where the bombs were planted, but it was one thing to know something and another thing to remember it at the right moment in battle. "Can you be ready if Ichimaru or Shiro, I mean Hitsugaya-taichou come in here?"

He gave her a grim smile. "'Ready to lead. Ready to follow. Never quit.'" It was something he'd said on other occasions, and Momo now wished she had thought to ask him about it.

Right now, though, there wasn't time. She picked her way across the wreckage and towards the staircase leading up to the kitchen, only breaking into shunpo when the floor was clear.

She had to get back to the library before it was too late. It had only been for a second, but something of Kira had broken though his Hollow-self. Maybe it could again.

Momo stopped cold at the entrance to the foyer. Both staircases were gone. The bombs in them had either blown, or were buried under rubble, waiting to be set off by the slightest jostle. Well, she'd been planning on jumping it, anyway, but the sight of it slowed her down. She had noticed the approaching chill, but now she thought about it and what it meant.

Kira had recognized her. He had.

Instead of jumping for the landing, Momo turned to face the front door. She took a deep breath and pushed it open. She stood there in silence for a moment, staring out at the field of broken and bloody ice.

Maybe someone else would recognize her as well. She closed her eyes and felt a turbulent, storming reiatsu that was colder than winter itself.

She let her own reiatsu flare.

"Here I am," she whispered.

* * *

The crash deafened them, and the cloud of dust and debris blinded them. Isane heard Ukitake-taichou coughing wetly into his sleeve, but there was no time to get to him. Keeping him safe meant ignoring her duty as a healer for the moment. She shielded her eyes with her left hand, but that did nothing to make the dust seem any thinner. Kira should be right in front of her, but no--he was hunched down over the hole in the floor.

" _Hinamori!_ "

It sounded so much like the Kira she once knew, but she didn't dare hope.

He straightened up slowly, but it looked painful, and she thought his back was getting larger--something was shifting under his clothes. "Where is she?" he asked dully, and Isane had no idea if he meant Matsumoto or Hinamori. "What have you done with her?"

"He's not thinking clearly," Ukitake-taichou whispered rapidly. He pulled at her sleeve, urging her to bend down so she could hear him. "He can't. Not anymore. You can hear it in his voice. They broke his mind along with everything else. Whatever Aizen tried to do to him, it's not working. And it's not holding. You heard him just now, didn't you? He--"

Kira jumped across the hole, and Ukitake-taichou quickly uttered the incantation for Bakudo Sixty-one. The six beams of light stopped Kira, but only for a moment.

"What? That shouldn't be possible!" Ukitake-taichou said, but Isane didn't see what he was so startled by. Strong Hollows could break through that particular kidou, especially if it was hastily cast.

She barely had enough time to pull him out of range of Kira's reach. There was no good path to flee. Kira was between them and the window, them and the door, and even between then and the hole in the floor. She could probably get past him on her own, but that would mean leaving Ukitake-taichou behind.

And now he was breathing hard and in a cold sweat, exhausted from the effort of what should have been a simple kidou for him.

"Was that Hinamori?" Kira asked plaintively. "Ichimaru-sama didn't tell me she would be here."

"She is," Ukitake-taichou said. He did not mention that Kira himself was the one who had sent her plummeting through the floor. "Would you like to see her again, Kira-kun?"

Kira whimpered.

Ukitake shifted so he could get his mouth closer to her ear. Again, he whispered so fast she could barely make out what he said. "Look at him. The kidou isn't broken. It's still around his waist, it's still got one arm trapped, but look at it."

She did. She could barely see what was left of the six bars of light. They had crumpled like foil, pressing tight in to Kira's body. As she watched, the kidou finally snapped and dissolved. Whatever had been growing on his back slid free, clattering out from beneath the hem of his robe and the cuffs of his sleeves. Chains. They were as white as bone.

"Now look at the dust," Ukitake said.

The clouds of dust were still swirling, but they were now swirling towards Kira, making his white clothes and blond hair as gray as stone.

"Give her to me, or I will crush you," Kira said, so simply it didn't seem like a threat. "I can do that now." Another chain hit the floor.

Isane heard a faint swishing sound as fragments of ruined books began to slide across the floor towards Kira.

He stepped towards them, dragging his chains, and Isane thought she felt the floor slant down in his direction. She heard thump after thump as the few remaining books were pulled from the shelves. "What is this? What's he doing?"

"Resurreccion," Ukitake-taichou and Kira both said. Then, Ukitake-taichou alone. "He's _become_ Wabisuke. He'll bring the entire building down around us, and with Ichimaru still outside. Are you ready?"

Isane did not have to ask _ready for what?_ She knew. What she didn't know was if she could do what Mihane-san had taught her. And what if it didn't work? When Hinamori attacked Kira, those bone fragments had erupted to shield him. She had seen Hinamori's sword nearly wrenched from her grasp by its own weight.

"It will be all right, Isane-kun."

But Kira's wrist was bleeding, the drops falling a few inches before darting back up to splash against his arm. If she was fast enough, if she could strike hard enough, she could... but she didn't know if she could.

_Shhhh..._ Itegumo's voice was like the hush of a wave.

It allowed her to be still even as everything was bending, flowing towards Kira. She was aware, so sharply aware of the fluttering paper, of the pinpoint of darkness forming in front of Kira's hollow-hole, of the way Ukitake's hair began to waft towards the center of the room.

Not yet, not yet. He would see her coming. Not yet, but soon. She heard a creaking from beneath them that boded no good, but Kira was watching her, waiting. Ukitake-taichou was plainly in no condition to attack, even with kidou, so Kira had to know it would come from her.

She was present, she was waiting, she was there, and when a surge of well-known reiatsu flared up and pulled Kira's attention from her, she was ready.

Everything was slow and fast and still and _now_. Intent and motion were as one.

Her hand went to Itegumo's hilt leisurely yet so quickly that Ukitake gasped in surprise as she let go of him. One, two, three strides carried her across to Kira so fast she might have been running down a steep hill.

His power pulled her in much faster than she expected, so fast the blow almost came too late. When it did come, Itegumo sprung free of the scabbard so fast and so hard she could barely hold on, and she couldn't complete the motion. She should have brought the sword back down, but instead, she kept falling forward, sending both her and Kira sprawling.

He shrieked, and she screamed and together they went tumbling to the floor. Isane tried to pull away, but he had hold of her left arm and he squeezed. She screamed again as the two bones of her forearm snapped.

A kidou shield kept them both from rolling through the hole in the floor, and the part of her mind that had detached wanted to scold Ukitake-taichou for exerting himself like that.

Isane wound up on top of Kira. She had no idea where Itegumo was--he'd flown from her hand when they hit the floor.

Kira still had hold of her arm and although he wasn't squeezing, he had no intention of letting go. She made herself count breaths so she would not vomit from the pain. She reached over to see if she could pry his hand loose. He resisted, but not much, eventually transferring his grip to her right hand. The chains had vanished.

"Kotetsu-fukutaichou?"

Her left arm was free, but throbbing. Kira now held tight--uncomfortably, but not painfully--to her right hand. She sat up all the way and could now see that her blow had struck true, opening him up from abdomen to clavicle. His blood had soaked through her top.

She had a frantic desire to ask him if he was all right, but that had nothing to do with the wound she had given him.

"Yes, Kira-san?"

He relaxed his grip on her hand, then gave a squeeze that was a little gentle, a little tentative. He did not let go and she could not pull free.

"Hinamori. That was her."

"Yes. It was." Isane had no idea what had caused Hinamori's reiatsu to flare, or what might be happening to her. All she could do was hope. Now she had to think of what to do for Kira. Itegumo had struck deep. She could see where ribs had been severed. She could see organs, exposed, and the damage done by a sword whose strike had been amplified by its victim's own power. She had no idea where to start.

It was so hard to think of _what should I do now?_ when all that clanged through her brain was _what have I just done?_

"Isane-kun! What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Don't shout, taichou," she said. Her voice came out as a squeak. "Please... don't shout. It's not good for you."

She had to look at this as she would any other wound, even though it was one she had inflicted. She had seen worse.

_But it was the worst she had ever done_.

She would do what she could, she told herself firmly. She had to. But she couldn't stop crying. "Kira-san, I need you to let go of my hand. I can't heal you like this, and I can't use my left hand. Please let go."

He didn't let go. His fingers hooked through hers. "I didn't mean to hurt Hinamori. I didn't want that."

She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip was still strong, even now. "I know that, Kira." Whatever the thing was that had come into this room, declaring its desire to kill Rangiku-san, it was gone. "Now please, let go of my hand. Let go, and I promise I'll tell her that for you."

She looked him in the eye as she made the promise. The mask was gone. She hadn't seen it fall off.

"Maybe... I think maybe she already knows," she said.

Kira blinked. "Oh. Good. That's good."

He let go of her hand, but there was nothing more she could do for him.

* * *

Momo heard a hoarse, anguished scream from inside the mansion.

"Isane-san?"

Her first, panicked thought was for Ukitake-taichou, but then Tobiume went light in her hand so suddenly her arm lifted.

Kira was gone. And she hadn't been there for him.

Later, she told herself viciously. She would cry for him later.

She crouched into ready position, bracing herself for whatever might come. "Here I am," she said again, letting her reiatsu flare even brighter.

There was an answering surge, one that had her blinking ice crystals from her eyes.

It was foolish to try to prepare, but she did. Momo tried to picture what Shiro-chan would be like now, so she could be ready.

But all her imagination showed her was a small boy dressed in white, looking quite grumpy about wearing a mask, as if he had been coerced into attending a fancy-dress party.

Fine. It was a reminder of what she was fighting _for_. She would use it.

Whoever Shiro-chan was now, he was coming faster, faster. Her breath sparkled in the air.

Faster, faster, and closer, closer, and she still didn't see him.

Finally, she looked up.

Kira had not been Kira, but there had been a resemblance. An echo. Here, there was nothing but a jumble of icy wings, cruel claws, and a bitter, ravenous cold.

"AIZEN! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?"

Her rage crackled through the frozen air, and Tobiume strained to release.

The creature flew as if it was in pain, jerking this way and that. A leash dangled from what must have been its neck.

Kira's spirit had been broken and put together wrong, but the pieces were recognizable as having been him. This resembled Shiro-chan the way a smear of blood and feathers resembled a bird.

Momo didn't know what to do. All she could do was burn with fury. She wanted to break someone the way Shiro-chan had been broken, to hurt someone--hurt Aizen--five, ten, a million times more. She hoped Ikkaku skinned Aizen alive, fed him to his Hollows piece by screaming piece.

If only she could be there to see it.

Ice melted and mud bubbled around her feet. Her anger cocooned her and steadied her, and so she did not tremble when a familiar voice rang out across the shattered ice field.

"Maaa... Now here I thought you'd be happy to see your old friend again, Hinamori-chan. An' after I went to all that trouble to have him sent here from Hueco Mundo. There's gratitude for ya."

"Ichimaru." It had no venom in it. He didn't matter any more, him and his slimy, slithering reiatsu like a bucket of worms. Her hand went to her chest, feeling for Matsumoto's necklace. She had meant to taunt him with it, to hurt him the way she had been hurt, but he wasn't worth what it would do to her.

Shiro-chan zigged back towards Ichimaru, then hesitated, hovering unsteadily and muttering to himself. After a moment, he started drifting warily towards Momo.

Ichimaru stayed well back, far enough he had to shout to be heard. Momo could see a number of shinigami behind him. They hung even further back, and the distance seemed to be increasing slightly.

"Aw, ain't you even gonna say hello?" he called out. He spread out his arms. "Don't I get a hug?"

The bastard was just out of Tobiume's range. Deliberately, no doubt. She nearly shot back with _come here and get one!_ \--that was probably Ikkaku's fault--but if Ichimaru knew they wanted him to come closer to the mansion, he wouldn't. No, he already knew. Tobiume wasn't the only reason he was staying so far back.

She had to draw him in. Had to get him to where she could roast him, or where a burst from Tobiume would set off a bomb that would rip him to shreds. But how? She was no temptation to him herself. She was just a joke to him--an also-ran who couldn't properly step into his place by Aizen's side.

Mihane-san was off with Iba's group. She could hear the sound of ongoing battle off in the distance. No help from that quarter, and the disguise probably wouldn't work a second time.

"Now, why'd you all have to go an' drag poor Rangiku off to a place like this?" he said, looking around as if the churned-up ice and scattered body parts had merely been an unfortunate decorating decision.

_There._

"Who said we had to drag her?" Momo smiled, trying to think of what Ichimaru looked like when he was being cruel for his own amusement.

It had no effect. But then, she was an amateur at this game.

"Aw, you gonna pretend like you know her better than I do? This ain't her kind of place. This is the kind of place I helped her get out of. An' now I'm gonna help her again," he said pleasantly.

"She doesn't want your help." Momo took a step back towards the door. Shiro-chan drifted closer. She kept glancing between him and Ichimaru, not knowing which would make a move first. In a way, she was surprised Ichimaru hadn't skewered her out of hand.

"Oh?" He was all surprised innocence, mouth forming a perfect circle. He had been moving closer, but still not close enough. "That so? Then whyn't you bring her out here and have her tell me herself?"

She tried to come up with something clever, but she couldn't. It was getting so cold... And she was so stupid. There was nothing left of Shiro-chan after all, and Ichimaru was just stringing her along. Maybe he wasn't expecting a direct attack from her, she thought. Maybe the element of surprise--

"Oh, I got it!" He slapped a fist against his palm with a surprising tentativeness, as if afraid of hurting himself. "Maybe she ain't really in there! You know what? I bet she ain't. I bet you all were tryin' to be _clever_ , an' you got her stashed somewhere else. So maybe I should just have your pal here freeze the place solid an' then maybe I'll have Aizen-taichou send _another_ of your friends on over to say hi."

Her grip on Tobiume began to shake. _Another? Who else?_

"Now, who should I send over?" He was grinning, and she knew that grin---she had seen it in nightmares. "Howsa bout Abarai? That'll make it a nice class reunion with you an' Kira."

She steadied her grip, even though it deepened the cuts in her hands. The pain helped center her. Overhead, the thing that used to be her best friend began snarling and muttering. In another minute, he would swoop down and kill her and she could do nothing about it.

"Or maybe Ukitake would like to see his ol' pal again, huh? Or maybe his sweet Rukia-chan. Now wouldn't that be a sight?"

If she went after Ichimaru now, she would be killed, no question. But then there would be no one for him to taunt, and he'd have to go inside. No, he'd just send in Shiro-chan to get blown up. There was only one thing she could do.

He could be lying about the others, but she didn't know that. And he thought she was lying about Rangiku, but he didn't know for sure. And that was why she was still alive.

"I'll go in and get her," she stammered. Ichimaru put a hand to his ear--he hadn't heard her. This time she shouted. "Rangiku-san is inside! I'll go get her! Right now!"

Ichimaru smiled, and it was the worst smile she'd ever seen on him because it was a truly _happy_ smile.

She had no idea what she would do once she got inside, but she now had a few seconds--maybe even a few minutes--she hadn't had before.

It was enough. She stepped back towards the door, not daring to turn her back on either monster, and the world fell apart in a million fragments of red, blue, and green.

Bits of brightly colored glass shattered around her and she crouched down, instinctively shielding herself. She had no idea what had broken one of the stained glass windows above. There was no explosion, so it couldn't be one of Shiba-sama's bombs.

In the time it took for the glass to fall and for her to stand up again, Shiro-chan had swooped down impossibly fast, landing so close she had to step back.

Shiro-chan had hold of her sword-arm, and it burned with cold even though there were three layers of fabric between his skin and hers. She looked down at the gray, icy claw rather than look him in the face. She didn't dare look him in the face and see what wasn't there.

A claw pulled at her hand, prying it away from Tobiume. She allowed this, thinking it was better than having her fingers broken, but he was gentle, so gentle. Even the cold didn't bite.

She opened her right hand, bracing Tobiume's hilt with her left. The cold air stung where the hilt had made her bleed. Her hiss of pain was echoed by Shiro-chan.

Momo looked down at him. There was nothing there she recognized, but something here had affected him. Her bloody palm fascinated him. He didn't touch the cuts, but a crooked claw ran just a hair's breadth over them as he hummed querulously.

He couldn't speak, but it was as if he was asking who had done this to her. She couldn't blame Kira, as Kira was not to blame for what he had become, but there was someone else. She looked up at Ichimaru without thinking.

Ichimaru didn't notice. He was gawping up at the broken window.

* * *

"Isane-kun!"

Kira was gone, but Isane was still frantically trying to undo the damage she had done. His blood was all over her hand, and her hand kept flying to her face, and she knew he had his blood in her hair, and what had she done, what had she done?

" _Isane-kun!_ "

At first she thought his hollow hole might have been sealing itself, but it was just crumbling. He was falling to dust and she didn't know how to stop it.

"Isane, _stop._ That is an order, fukutaichou!"

Isane sat back on her haunches, trembling with mortification. How could she have forgotten her primary patient?

Ukitake was sprawled on the floor. She'd pulled him out of his chair to get him away from Kira, then she had to let him go, and he hadn't moved since.

"Listen to me, fukutaichou." There was not even a hint of sympathy in his face. "Here is what I need you to do. First, splint your arm. Numb it if you have to. You know the kidou, correct? That will be faster than healing, and we don't have the luxury of time."

"But, taichou..."

He kept talking, despite the flecks of blood that began to stain his lips. "Help me up. I need to be standing for this, and you need to get me out there, to the hallway."

"You're not well! You need to rest, and--"

"I need to get out there, and..." He paused, maybe for breath or maybe to rethink what he was going to say. When he spoke again, his usual kindness was there. "I haven't been well for a very long time, Isane-kun. I have no illusions about my surviving this battle."

"Please don't say that!"

"But some of us still may, and for that to happen we need to get Ichimaru in close. I have no idea what Hinamori-kun thinks she's doing out there, but we need to remind Ichimaru why he came here in the first place."

She was grateful for the orders, grateful for something to do. Takano came running back in just as she was trying to set her arm. He saw what was going on, and plunked himself right by her side and took hold of her wrist and elbow.

"I guess I don't have to tell you this is gonna hurt," he said. "On the count of three?"

She nodded.

"Okay. One--" He yanked hard.

"Gahh! Oh, that was..." She checked the set. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad, either. They'd gotten to it before it had too much chance to swell. It hurt, but nothing felt out of place, so she went ahead and numbed it. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "People always tense on 'two.' Where's Hinamori? She said she was coming back up here. I need her help with getting the bombs re-set. This guy," his eyes cut to Kira, "trashed things good on his way in. The big booms are still intact, but most of the triggers are shot."

"She's outside," Ukitake-taichou said with no other explanation. "Can someone still trigger the bombs manually when Ichimaru enters, if it comes to that?"

"Yes," Takano said without hesitation. The next bit was slightly hesitant. "Good chance whoever did it wouldn't survive, unless they could do it from a distance. It's not a milk run."

Ukitake closed his eyes. "Of course it isn't. Takano, I'm not giving this order lightly--"

"I volunteer, sir," he said.

"No!" Isane said. "I could use kidou blasts to trigger them. I--"

"And I need you with me, Isane-kun. I'm not giving that order lightly, either. Takano, before you leave, there should be a pink scarf near the balcony. Shirogane-kun left it here when she debriefed after your mission. Bring it to me."

He did, then left to go get in position to trigger the huge charges that could bring half the mansion down on their heads.

"Come here, Isane-kun. You can't splint that one-handed." He sliced the front cover off of a large book, and bent it. After a moment's thought, he ripped a narrow strip off the length of the pink scarf. She held out her arm so he could wrap it. "That should do for now. Why didn't you numb before you set?"

"I needed to be able to feel that things were in place." She looked at the pink fabric as it wound round and round her arm. "You're going to have me pretend to be Matsumoto-san? But I--"

"But you have similar builds, and you can scream loudly, and if we do this right, Ichimaru will only catch a brief glimpse of something he is very much hoping to see," he said gently. He reached up and rested a hand on her cheek. "Whatever Hinamori is doing, it is buying us time, so let's use that gift wisely, shall we? Now help me to my feet."

* * *

Momo looked up. So did Shiro-chan. The bottom half of one of the stained glass windows was gone and she had a brief glimpse of a woman in a pink scarf. She couldn't see the face or hair from this angle.

" _Rangiku!_ " Ichimaru's shout held surprise, delight, triumph.

It was the first time Momo had ever felt anything like pity for Ichimaru. After the first leap of her heart, she knew who it had to be at the window, and it was not who either of them would have given anything to see.

Ichimaru laughed, but he stayed right where he was, hugging himself lightly. "An' here I thought you all were just having me on. You really were going to go in an' bring her out, weren't you?"

No. They still had to get him inside. And if Isane stayed in the window much longer, Gin would have to notice it wasn't really Rangiku.

Shiro whined. He was still looking at her hand when a scream drew his attention. Isane was gone, and Ukitake-taichou was at the window for just a second, grim-faced and with his sword out.

"What! No! You let her out here, y'hear me! Y'all ain't got no right, holding her prisoner like that!" The sudden shift of mood was as frightening as the expression twisting his face.

There was no answer from the window. After a brief growl at the flaring of Ichimaru's killing intent, Shiro-chan had returned to investigating her hand.

A memory swam up from somwhere, barely visible in the murk. It felt like something that might have happened while she was half awake, half dreaming. A memory of her hands, hurting very much like this, and Shiro-chan's cold anger. His claws grew colder and colder, but she didn't dare say anything, no matter how much it hurt.

"Maaa... Hitsugaya." The words slithered out. Gin's amused, contemptuous calm had returned as suddenly as it had left.

Shiro-chan turned, hissing low. Momo had all but said her wounds were Ichimaru's fault. She pulled her hand away and rested it on one of Shiro's wings. It was softer than she would have thought. "Shiro-chan, don't! Wait!"

"Go on up there an' find Rangiku for me, will ya? You remember Rangiku, dontcha? Course you do. Well, you're gonna get to hang out together again. Just like old times." He chuckled. "Sorta-kinda. Anyhow, watcha waitin' for? Go on."

Momo saw what was going to happen next, but she couldn't stop it. Shiro-chan roared and leapt straight at Ichimaru.

" _Ikorose_ , Shinsou."

Shiro-chan's leap carried him another dozen yards before he collapsed, Shinsou tearing free of him as he fell. He was already crumbling to dust.

There was nothing left but rage, burning rage. It carried her forward. Her scream became Tobiume's release command and the fire burning in her was the fire burning in her sword. And still, Ichimaru stood his ground, grinning at her like she was a joke. He hadn't even retracted his sword for another strike.

"Heya, Hinamori-chan." He waved.

The kidou hit her square on, lifting her clean off her feet and blasting her towards the house. She clipped the side of the door hard on the way through, hard enough that she felt the frame (and some ribs) crack. The impact slowed her flight, but she still skidded all the way across the foyer hall, plowing up debris.

Everything hurt, but she had to get up. Miracle of miracles, she had not let go of Tobiume. She could still aim at one of the bombs and blow them all up, right here, right now. She started to lift Tobiume, but a foot pressed the flat of the blade against the floor.

"Nope, none o' that, now. Gotta say, I'm surprised I caught you like that. Thought you were some sort of kidou 'expert' or something, and here you can't even block a simple energy blast." He laughed. "You really thought you had what it took to replace me, huh? And your pal out there--oh, he always thought he was better'n me. You know he did."

She tried to get up, but Ichimaru kicked her in the stomach and she went down again, retching. He picked up Tobiume and tossed the sword into the wreckage.

"Guess I showed you. Both of you. Now, lemme take care of you real fast--can't have you poppin' up to stab me in the back, can I?--and then I can go see Rangiku. Sorry, but you lost, I won. That's how it goes, Hinamori-chan."

He slid his foot under her shoulder and rolled her over on her back. Shinsou was at the hollow of her throat before she had time to react. She was about to die, and there was nothing she could do.

But Ichimaru did not drive the sword through her neck. His eyes went as wide as she'd ever seen them, and she felt only the slightest prick as he used Shinsou's tip to lift up the end of Rangiku's necklace.  



	28. Iba: Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every battle counts, and so does every loss. -- by incandescens

**IBA: DEFENSE**

 

"Look at yourself!" Iba barked at the four Tower guards that were left. He didn't expect it to do much good, but it was worth a try. "You're fighting alongside Hollows! Is this really what you fucking signed up for?"

The guards didn't react. He'd have tried yelling at them some more, but there was a mess of incoming Hollows to deal with. But he was getting the rhythm of them better now. The bad thing about cookie-cutter Hollows was that you couldn't put them down for good until you got the main one, but the good thing was that all the offspring fought the same way.

"They've got a pattern!" he barked at Suzuki, who was waving her naginata round like she'd just heard it was going to be taken away from her and she wasn't going to let them near her. "Pay attention, watch for that dip --" He turned, leaning on his crutch, and was just in time to brace Kuroda with his shoulder as one of the Hollows shoulder-charged him. "You've got a fucking pike, boy, put it in his fucking face, do I need to draw you a map?"

With a garbled choke of apology, Kuroda got the head of his pike up where it was supposed to be and put it through the Hollow's mask. Suzuki feinted low and slashed high as her training _finally_ came back to her, Rikichi took another Hollow down with a clean swipe, and Yoshino calmly took a Hollow's hand off, then its head with the back-stroke, and looked around for more. Shirogane was backing off, drawing a few more Hollows away from the main circle.

It should have looked good. Unfortunately, Iba was coming to the conclusion that this Hollow was just fucking _playing_ with them. It could keep on throwing waves at them as long as it liked, and all it needed was for one of them to slip.

"Oi!" he shouted at the Tower guards. "Aren't you going to come play too? What do you think Ichimaru'll say if he hears you sat the fight out and let the Hollows do all the killing?" All right, so what Ichimaru would probably say would be along the lines of _good strategy, men, why put yourselves in danger?_ followed by _and now I'll kill you messily because I'm in that sort of mood_ , but it was worth a try.

The men exchanged what might be nervous glances under their hoods. Then one of them made a gesture which didn't require facial features or complicated linguistics to get the point across.

"Be like that, then," Iba muttered.

There was a loud explosion from back towards the mansion. Iba couldn't read the reiatsu well, it was too damn jumbled for that, but there were enough flares of it going off that he could guess the confrontation was in motion. Well, fine, so at least they'd drawn off a few of the goons. Damn marvellous.

He cut down another Hollow, barely thinking about it, while considering ways of handling the situation. What would a captain do?

Well, Komamura-taichou would have bankai'd on the spot, picked up the Hollow by its roots and used it to trash the forest all around. Zaraki-taichou would have charged in, cut it in half with one swing, and been picking his teeth with the remains before it hit the ground.

Try again. What would someone who wasn't a captain do?

Renji would have pulled out his shikai and used it to whip the thing down into the ground till it really was growing roots. Which was fine, but that needed Renji's shikai to work. Ikkaku would -- Iba was about to think, _charged it head on_ , but that was being unfair to Ikkaku these days, he'd only _probably_ charge it head on. Either way there wasn't anything there that Iba could use. And Yumichika would have used speed on it, moving round to get it from a good position and keep on cutting it down, which was a great idea, but it was about the last possible thing that Iba could do at the moment. Still. Worth a thought.

What would his mother have done?

His mother had told him stories -- had told all the family stories -- of how she'd been a shinigami, how she'd worked her way up to vice-captain, how she and her captain had faced all sorts of Hollows, and how she'd decided to retire while she still had a bit of life in her . . . At the time he'd thought it was just a perfectly natural reaction to having someone like Ichimaru Gin promoted in as Captain of the Division above her, and wanting to enjoy her old age in peace. Since the war, he'd had time to wonder about that. At least she was safe at the moment, hidden out on the Kuchiki estate.

But what would she have done?

Memory brought back the sensation of being beaten over the head with a walking stick. _What do you think you're playing at, Iba?_

"Give me something useful, Mom," Iba muttered to himself, then raised his voice. "Left, Suzuki, your fucking left, it's the one that's not your right!"

_Didn't I always tell you, you're not necessarily going to have the chance to use that shikai of yours! And not everyone gets bankai! So what do you practice in your spare time, my boy?_

Kidou. Flame. Wood.

"Thanks, Mom." Iba grinned.

_And when are you going to get married? How long am I going to have to wait for some grandchildren --_

Iba made a solemn vow to his mother's memory that he'd get married within the year, or the decade, or the century at the very most, assuming that he survived the next ten minutes, and focused on the details of the current situation.

What he needed was an opening on the original Hollow, rather than all the duplicates. If he kidou-blasted them first, the Hollow would figure out what he had in mind and might even be able to use some sort of defence against it. Okay. So he needed to get round behind the Hollow. But he could barely move.

So in that case, he needed to get the Hollow to move _for_ him.

He gestured Shirogane to move closer. Once she was near enough, he leaned in. "I need an opening. I'm going to fake taking a hit and go down. You grab the kids and take them in a controlled retreat away from me so that the big Hollow follows and shows me his back. Then I'm gonna fry it. Okay?" He wished Momo was here. Her zanpakutou would have been just what they needed for this situation.

Shirogane's eyes narrowed, then she nodded in quick comprehension. "Good luck, sir," she said, turning back to the fight to bring down another Hollow-copy.

The Tower guards were moving in again. All right. He could use that. "Suzuki! Fall back, I'll take your position!"

The girl rolled her eyes like a nervous horse, but she did as she was told. He stomped forward, doing his best to look even more unsteady than he was, and waited for them to come at him.

They did. They were well-enough trained that they knew to go for a weak link, and they also knew that with him down, the others wouldn't have a chance. Two of them spread out to take him from the side, while the others charged head on, points forward, steel shining as it came at his chest.

He shifted to one side, putting his weight on the crutch, and put his weight on his blade as he hacked down, taking one spearhead off at the neck of the spear. The other grazed his collarbone and along the side of his chest, leaving a track of blood. He leaned backwards as the other two men lunged at him, letting their blades pass above his face and turning to bring his own blade round in a cut -- the man to his right had overextended, leaning too far into the blow, so Iba took his hand off at the wrist before pulling back in again.

They were good, but they weren't that good. Two of them still fully armed, one of them with a staff now rather than a spear, the last down and clutching his wrist and screaming. Right. If he'd had his usual speed, he could have taken them all down easily. If he'd been wanting to use kidou on them, they were bunched up nice and close now, all convenient for a wide blast. Nobody in Seventh would have been that careless. But they _were_ good enough to damage the kids, and maybe Shirogane, so he needed to do as much damage here as he could before he faked his injury.

This time the one with the staff charged him straight on, trying to get in close to keep him busy while the other two pinned him from either side.

"Iba-fukutaichou!" Suzuki screamed from behind him.

He took the rush and brought his tanto in low and close, swiped it across the guy's belly and gutted him. He went down in a spray of blood, dropping his staff and trying to hold his guts in. But it had given the other two time to make their thrusts. Iba managed to avoid most of the first one, and it just tore his right sleeve from elbow to wrist, but the other spear took him along the ribs, punching up and into his left shoulder.

Shit.

That'd have to be it. He gave as realistic a cry of pain as he could, went down on his good knee, and grabbed the spear in his left hand. It was kind of sweet to see the shock in that guard's eyes as he realised he wasn't going to be able to just pull it loose, and he was stupid enough to move in closer and try for more leverage. Iba showed him how that was a mistake, pulling him in enough to slash his throat.

Then he let go of the spear, staged a last despairing cry of, "Run, Shirogane!" and drooped slowly to the ground, muffling his reiatsu down as hard as he could.

He heard the kids screaming, and Rikichi yelling in denial, and Shirogane's voice on top of it all telling them to run, now, like Iba-fukutaichou had told them. The big Hollow was laughing, and all its duplicates were rustling along in hoarse amusement, like rain on leaves in autumn. The remaining guard who was still standing didn't bother to stick Iba with his spear and make sure he was dead -- moron, good moron -- but instead he took off after them, jumping over Iba's body like it was some sort of race.

"Iba-fukutaichou!" Suzuki was louder this time. He glanced sideways from under his shades, and saw with a sick horror that the idiot girl was running straight for him, away from where Shirogane was shepherding the others, as if she could help him or pull him away from there. And he didn't blame her, he'd have done the same for anyone else, but if he moved now or showed any signs of life, then it was going to wreck the ambush.

She was doing the right thing, the honourable thing, and --

Three of the Hollow-duplicates came rushing down on her, their long branch arms moving quickly now that they'd given up on playing and were fighting seriously. Suzuki probably didn't get more than a moment to realise that she didn't have a chance. She brought her naginata up to parry, but it was too late, and Iba saw them beat her down to the ground and break her neck.

Like so many of the dead, she looked a little surprised, like she was trying to work out what was going on, mouth open to ask a question, blood running in a slow thread from the corner of it as the Hollows moved on after the others. He heard the single remaining Tower guard yell in the distance, then fall silent again. Shirogane or one of the others must have got him.

 _Sorry, kid,_ he thought. _Captain, if you can hear me, look after her._

Duplicate Hollow after duplicate Hollow streamed past him, their motion shaking the ground and tossing him around as he lay there. They left deep tracks in the mud and dead leaves, long trails of dragged-out roots. Then finally the big one, the central Hollow -- he could feel its reiatsu harsh and hungry, and he pulled his own in even tighter, not wanting to give it any hint that he was still alive, even unconscious. He began to repeat the words of the **Sokatsui** kidou to himself at the back of his throat, lips barely moving.

The central Hollow was past him now. Its minions were clustered in front of it, bearing down on the others to finish them off before heading back to the mansion.

Blood ran hotly down Iba's shoulder and over his arm as he jerked himself up on his knees again, propping himself up on his crutch. Suzuki was watching him with those still empty eyes, like she was just waiting for him to demonstrate something. _Okay, kid. You didn't die for nothing. This is how you do it._

". . . the wrath of your claws," he finished. Light like the heart of a forge blossomed round his right hand, and he pointed it at the Hollow's back. **"Blue fire, crash down!"**

The shot went right through the Hollow, punching a hole a foot across, and blasting flaming fragments out the other side onto its duplicates. The fire took on it like the creature was dry wood -- yeah, he'd been right about that -- and ran along the lines of bone and sinew as the thing screamed. Its branches waved frantically in the air, thrashing as it turned to focus on Iba. It was staggering, but it was still moving.

Well, damn, he'd been hoping that the one shot would be enough to take it down. Pity to have got it wrong. He'd just have to give it another blast close up and hope that he could do it before he got taken apart . . .

Through the flames and the stampeding duplicates, he saw the others, clear and distinct in their black uniforms. Shirogane was the first to move as she darted for it, her blade like a ray of light in a perfect strike that cut through half the base trunk, slicing through tendons or wood or whatever, and making it pause and shudder. Kuroda and Yoshino were next to her a moment later, Kuroda standing back and using his pike like he'd been taught to do, while Yoshino got in close and hacked away. And Rikichi was running up its tilting back like a rabbit, tears streaming down his face and cutting runnels in the smears of smoke, sharper than any tattoos. He got to its shoulder, and as it raised its flaming hands to grope for him, he brought his zanpakutou down hard into its mask.

The Hollow screamed. It went down to its knees, and then it simply blew apart into dust, in a flaming concussion that tossed Rikichi through the air and against a nearby tree like a Shiba cannonball. All the smaller duplicates surrounding it fell apart at the same moment, vanishing into the smoke with a long drifting sigh that sounded almost like relief.

Iba coughed on smoke and spat. Kuroda and Yoshino were next to him now, supporting him. "Where's Shirogane?" he demanded.

"Right here," Shirogane said, appearing with Rikichi slung over her shoulder. Blood was staining her uniform down her left side. She wasn't looking at Suzuki's body, but it probably wasn't coincidence that she'd picked a place to stand where she didn't have to look at Suzuki's body.

Iba could understand that. He jerked a thumb at Rikichi. "What's his condition?"

"Unconscious but doesn't have any obvious injuries," Shirogane reported. "Must have hit the tree head first."

"Good tactics," Iba said. When the others stared at him, he expanded on it. "We always get told to hit the ground with an unimportant body part, right?"

Shirogane snorted. The two kids just blinked at him.

"Okay." He was hurting bad, but they might be needed back at the mansion. At least there probably wouldn't be anyone else coming out here. "Yoshino, Kuroda, you two are going to strap me up, then you're staying here with Rikichi to guard him. Anything comes after you, you run. Shirogane, you and I are going back to the mansion. Any questions?"

"What about . . ." Kuroda's eyes strayed to Suzuki.

"Close her eyes for her and leave her for the moment," Iba said, deliberately brutal. "She died fighting, and she died well. It's up to the rest of us to make sure she didn't die for nothing."

\---  



	29. Ensemble: Retaking Seireitei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seireitei crew gets to work after Gin leaves the city. -- by liralenli

**Ensemble: Retaking Seireitei**

  


Sasakibe rode as he'd never ridden before.

The boar squealed and snaked about like a hell-be-damned lizard, the bristled body solid against Sasakibe's knees. The thing was about as responsive as a brick. He had to just hang on for dear life and pray that the pigs behind him wouldn't trample him if he fell off.

The running, screaming verbal fight between the Shiba siblings, Ganju and Kuukaku, didn't help his nerves in the least, but it was familiar. Roaring on one side, getting kicked to kingdom come by the other, and then a mildly quieter tone to the discussion seemed the pattern. What Sasakibe truly resented, however, was Soi Fong's one-armed grace on top of a sow nearly ten times her weight. She seemed to ride her mount nearly absentmindedly, not so much guiding as skimming over the brute force grunting beneath her. The contrast to his own discomfort could not have been more vivid.

Ahead of them Seireitei rose white-walled and serene under the clear blue of the late winter sky.

It was time. Ichimaru had left at about noon. For the last day and night they'd camped nearby, slipping into the city in ones or twos to prepare everyone for what they were about to do now.

* * *

The Kuchiki estate had been covered in snow, the green of the bamboo groves the only color. The gates were imposing, and the guards even more keenly watchful than Sasakibe remembered, but his bearing, clothing, and a guard that recognized him got him by the front gate. He heard the bell ring in the inner courtyard that announced his coming.

A girl appeared by the front door. She went gracefully to her knees, head bowed, dish of washing water by her side. He slipped off his shoes. She put them away and washed his feet before he could step onto tatami-matted dark wood floors, millennia old. The girl bowed down again, and a man appeared, bowed low and silently led Sasakibe to an unusual audience chamber.

There were no windows, no paper walls. Lit by torch, lamps, and the glow of coals in a mid-room heater, there was a throne set up on a dais and mats on the floor below. Sasakibe deduced his position, and went to kneel on the comfortably thick mat at the foot of the throne, head on the floor between his own hands. When he was situated, a door slid open in the wall to the house, and steady but slow footsteps ascended the steps. Sasakibe knew better than to glance up until the low voice, tired but still powerful, spoke up.

"Rise, Sasakibe-san, and speak."

Sasakibe looked up and rose to his feet. It was Kuchiki Ginrei, looking shockingly old and frail compared to when he'd last helped with the situation with Koga.

"We are ready," Sasakibe said softly.

"Ready for what?" The old man's eyes were steady, focusing on Sasakibe with a glare that comforted the old soldier in a way he couldn't explain.

"There is a plan in motion that should lure Ichimaru and his most powerful minions out into the field in the next day or two. We would like your promise for your clan to come out in force on that day and break the hold that he and Aizen have on the city." Grateful that the whole had come out steadily, Sasakibe watched the old man sit back and assess.

"There are many troops other than Ichimaru and his pets," Kuchiki-sama said thoughtfully.

"There are many clans and families still within the city and within hailing distance of the city walls." This play of words comforted Sasakibe as no direct verbal confrontation could. Simply set the pieces in place to see what his opponent would make of it. "And there are still many members of the Onmitsukidou active in the city."

"There are?"

Sasakibe nodded. Covert Ops, or the Onmitsukidou, had been the second largest force within the Shinigami forces. They had been decimated during the War, but so many were adept at hiding that those that could had blended into the woodwork, become part of the very society that they now spied upon. Kuchiki-sama knew how things were organized and what it meant that they were still active and a going concern in this fight.

Watching the old man consider the new information, Sasakibe felt hope again for the first time in months.

"The fallen Shiba house is already in our camp, and we're sending envoys to Shihouin, Kyouraku, Yamamoto, Kasumioji, Kannogi, Omaeda. We are securing all our Rukongai contacts as well. The common signal will be when Ichimaru leaves, we will give them three hours to get far enough from the capitol to make it difficult for them to come back quickly. Then we will all attack."

The list of names made Kuchiki-sama's chin go up, as Sasakibe had hoped. It never hurt to invoke a little bit of clan rivalry when they were needed: that one clan might fall short of the others was shameful.

"What is the plan?"

Sasakibe didn't relax. If the plan didn't meet the old warhorse's approval, he would not risk his people to it. "Just before we attack, there will be fireworks and shells bombarding the North and East gates, to confuse all the guard stations before we hit the West Gate from the outside with its former gatekeeper. We will open that Gate and that Gate only and set off a blue display of fireworks to indicate that it is secured and open. We don't want Ichimaru Gin to be able to come back into any of the Gates, so we are keeping them closed and holding them as best we're able. We need you to have all the Clans at the West Gate before the green spear fireworks go off when we take the final Gate, as that is when we'll close the West Gate."

"Getting everyone through just one Gate?" Kuchiki-sama frowned. "We'll have to gather in advance, but the woods just outside the cleared zone are a good place to hide masses of troops. That should be possible, if we are organized." Finally, the craggy face nodded, gray eyes suddenly cold and fierce. "We will do what we can at that time. You may count on the Kuchiki clan."

"Thank you, sir." Sasakibe bowed low, head all the way to the mat, and moved backwards to the door.

For the next several hours Sasakibe was ushered into formal appointment rooms, winter gardens, and bare wooden halls the likes of which Yamamoto's Lieutenant hadn't seen in years. The quiet conversations and reasoned discourse soothed and reassured him that some of the old structures were still in place.

Even when the gist of most of the conversations was bloody rebellion.

What reassured him even more was the chorus of assent. Every family he spoke to agreed to the attack and was more than willing to help.

* * *

Soi Fong slipped through the shadows, mindful of the dogs, the garbage cans, and the smells that she couldn't avoid. The rooftops had been quiet, dry, and easy. There were a few traps by the most easily accessible points of the walls of the white city, but she'd avoided them without a sound. She'd put half of them there herself, so had no qualms.

Something disturbed her, but she couldn't put her finger on it, and that kept her all the more alert as she swung through the quieter, middle-class part of town. Going along one of the major boulevards, she suddenly realized what had been nagging at her instincts.

There were no stray cats.

Back at Ukitake's camp, Shirogane had asked Soi Fong why Shihouin-sama didn't go into Seireitei in her cat form to scout out what was happening there. Soi Fong had fobbed her off. Now, she realized that her once-mentor might well have had reasons other than distaste. On reaching the intersection of the thoroughfare with another of the wide, white streets, Soi Fong stopped, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

Small furry bodies hung limp from the roof line of the police house: she didn't need to get any closer to know that they were the missing cats.

Slipping back onto the more minor roads, Soi Fong knew that she stood out on these less traveled ways, but she felt safer being able to see anyone that came at her. No one did. It wasn't quite the time for the city's curfew, but still people stayed safe in their houses rather than risk the night.

Finally, she reached her destination, a small house, unremarkable and blending into the modest neighborhood. Knocking at the shadowed doorway, Soi Fong stepped back when a small crack of light appeared.

"Kage?" Soi Fong whispered.

"After battle..." murmured the dry husk of a male voice.

Soi Fong answered, finishing the first stanza and going on into the next, "Many new ghosts cry. The solitary old man..."

"...worries and grieves." And then the dry as death voice continued softly, "To many places, communication is lost. I sit straight at my desk but cannot read my books for grief.*"

The door opened showing flickering firelight and the glint of light off glasses, as a white-haired old man pushed them up onto his nose. "Welcome, my captain."

"No longer," Soi Fong said coolly. "But I am grateful for what you have been able to send."

The man bowed gently in acknowledgement. "And you have come?"

"To muster what troops there are. Ukitake has made his move, and Ichimaru is likely to counter tomorrow. When he goes, we all wait three hours and then take the center points of the city itself."

"Which are?"

"First we will overwhelm the four Gates and their keepers, in order to block anyone's entrance to the city. Then we will take the barracks of the Gotei 13, the Tower of Penitence, the Chambers of the Central 46, and the Palace that Gin has taken as his base of operations."

"Three of the four Keepers surrendered and were summarily executed, the fourth, Ikkanzaka Jidanbou, went into hiding. All should make your task easier. Shall I send a message to him to come back?"

"Please do. Are there other points we need to capture?"

"That seems a thorough enough list, but it is important that we completely clear the Gotei 13 barracks." The dry voice turned analytical. "Enlisting as many as possible to make it easy for everyone to turn against Ichimaru through sheer numbers."

Soi Fong nodded, lips pursed. "Ukitake would hate knowing that Ichimaru loyalists would hide under the chaos, but I see the reasoning. If those that are loyal to Ichimaru panic and change sides in the heat of battle, they'll remain ours if we win. Fewer to fight face to face and we can always take them in the back after."

"Far fewer deaths as well, which could be to our advantage afterward, too. People are tired of the killing." Kage's voice sounded tired to Soi Fong as well. Softer than he had been before, but then so was she.

She simply nodded. "All right. Can you take me to the first contacts to get the news down to all the lines of our people?"

Kage's eyes widened. "You will tell them yourself?"

"Yes. If this is going to be the Onmitsukidou's final battle, I wish for us to count and be counted, and I would like to thank them myself beforehand."

Kage stirred, his voice strengthening as he said, "I would be honored."

Soi Fong nodded. "Aye then, it is time for us to do what we can do," she said. "Take me to them."

* * *

"Go on, Brother. We have done the bulk of the work we need to do, and you should go see to Bonnie-chan and your friends," Kuukaku said, surveying the mass of armament they'd transported and put together on the fly.

Some of it Soi Fong had asked for, a good deal of which was to bring down guard stations or archery points, and a few were made just to bring down the random wall or two. There were also two enormous batteries of fireworks, shells and mortar, set up to confuse and dismay two of the gates. There were portable packs of fireworks in red, green, and blue for the signal flares. The artistry of the displays made Kuukaku happy; she hadn't been able to ply her trade in months, so she let herself truly enjoy her work while making these.

Bruised, bandaged, and sober for once, Ganju frowned. He looked tired, but Kuukaku wasn't about to give him any slack. It was too easy to go light on her younger brother, and now was not the time.

"Go on. You know that in order to have any chance of success, we have to get as many people as possible to turn at the same time. Your brawling buddies will fall over in glee at getting to do this," Kuukaku said firmly.

Rather than simply stomping off into the early morning light, Ganju frowned again, and to Kuukaku's frustration and dread, he asked, "Why did we get sent together?"

"Sometimes I think your head is made out of shell casing, little brother," she said, and refrained from kicking him into the neighbor's garden. "Why do you think?"

"I don't know, big sister. If I knew, I wouldn't be asking something you think is obviously a stupid question!" A big foot stomped down awfully close to a case of jelly explosives.

Kuukaku growled and stopped restraining herself. She kicked Ganju a good ten feet into the air; he landed on his feet and stomped back toward her. "I am not going to do all the thinking for you, idiot. Come on. Out with it!"

"We're not cowards," Ganju said with a dangerous angle to his broad chin.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, and leaned toward him until they were touching foreheads and breathing each other’s breath.

"'Cause the Seireitei crew has the most places to hide, but no one in the Shiba clan would hide!" Ganju said hotly.

"Maybe that's why the Shiba clan is left to only the two of us."

"Hmph!" Ganju said, and stuck his chin out even further than she thought possible. It was such a tempting target that she just hit it with her one fist, as hard as she could. His head snapped around. He grunted and tried to kick her back, but she caught his leg and pulled him off-balance and ended up throwing him on the ground and sitting on him.

"Yes. That is why they sent us," Kuukaku said, with a wry tilt to her smile. "Ukitake-taichou is no fool, but he is sentimental. After having seen Kaien killed, he would protect those of us left to him."

"But we are the ones that should protect the commoners, to be brave in the face of tyranny!" Ganju grumped, his voice muffled in the dirt.

"That is what I am telling you to do, idiot! Raise the countryside, get everyone together so that they can stand together rather than fall apart alone! Go get the commoners together and we'll stomp all over Gin's bullyboys and the pigs can eat them for lunch! But..." She grabbed Ganju's ear so that he howled. "But you have to remember, no actual fighting until the fireworks go off. And if everyone around you dies, you get to decide if you want to come back to me in mostly one piece or if you want me to hunt you down in the next life and give you a thrashing you'll remember every time you reincarnate."

The tears in Ganju's eyes, she wrote off as being from the ear twist. The ones in hers...well, it must have been the gunpowder.

* * *

When Gin rode out of the salt-white walls of Seireitei with the broken Hitsugaya and the nearly as badly broken Kira, Soi Fong grimaced at being limited to just the smallest of messages, just enough to warn Ukitake's crew. The parallel path for the sending made it far too easy to spot if there was more to it.

Besides, Soi Fong figured they'd understand what they were facing soon enough.

Three hours later, Kuukaku lit a single, lone rocket on a stand. The yellow fire trailed up into the sky and exploded with a whistle and a bang and then a burst that rivaled the sun that it shone under. Other, less beautiful and far more destructive salvos, lit by two of Soi Fong's operatives, fired on the North and East gates at the same time, so the guard within collided and ran in confusion as to which gate to protect.

On their porcine steeds, they approached the West Gate at a dead run. The huge shadow of Ikkanzaka Jidanbou loped easily beside them. The giant was so fast, only the boars could keep up with him.

When they arrived at the vast expanse of white stone, stretching almost beyond view to the right and the left, Jidanbou walked to the wall.

"Protect him! But try not to kill anyone! Many of these people are only doing this because Ichimaru threatened them or their families!" Soi Fong ordered, in a crisp, hard voice. She saw Sasakibe look at her and then nod.

Kuukaku was with her. Ganju and a number of his buddies had snuck into the walls the night before as pig herders, and would come into play later.

The fireworks specialist started firing kidou blasts at anything that appeared above the walls. Jidanbou widened his stance, and bent to take the lower edge of the West Gate. Soi Fong unsheathed Suzumebachi and stood to the right of the pillars of Jidanbou's legs. Sasakibe went to the left. The others that had come with them from Ukitake's camp spread out behind, a little uncertainly.

"When the gate goes up, protect Jidanbou's hands and feet!"

"Hai!" the others chorused.

Jidanbou howled and lifted. The guards on the other side of the wall came through with pikes. Firecrackers, strings and strings of them, popped in their faces, making them swear and wince back, blinded. Soi Fong took the opportunity to slide under the trembling gap Jidanbou made, and came up face-to-face with three opponents who gaped at her long enough for her to cut them.

She released her reiatsu in a flood, and saw another dozen guards just fall in their tracks. Those that were strong enough or foolish enough to face her she cut in the shoulders, arms, or legs, trying to stay away from torso and back. It all made her grimace. Nearly all her training was to take down someone fast and easy with as little cost to herself or her companions as possible. These tactics were more difficult and opened her to more possible attacks from her opponents, especially since she was fighting one-handed. Still, the training with Kuukaku, with Ukitake watching and giving her pointers on how to use her non-dominant hand and arm to its advantage, helped.

Sasakibe seemed to have no problem, once Jidanbou had gotten the Gate far enough up that he could roll under it. He spun, pivoted, danced, and his slender blade touched each of his opponents with deft precision, and they fell groaning and grasping at various bleeding limbs.

The cries of "Medic!" started sounding everywhere.

Soi Fong was gratified to realize that the number of men and women running on to the field with the rectangular "four" on their uniforms were far too few to treat the number of wounds they were dealing out. The information she'd gotten from her people about the dearth of trained medical personnel within the City walls was all too true.

Kuukaku came through in a burst of fire, and the other one-armed woman pin-wheeled through the oncoming troops with a cackle of mad glee. People fell in all directions, singed, gasping, or knocked out completely. Kuukaku had on her prosthetic, and used it indiscriminately for strikes that landed more like a cudgel than anything else.

Soi Fong didn't exactly regret not having Kuukaku fit her with one of those, but she did sigh at seeing the easy grace that the other woman used in acrobatic stunts which Soi Fong used to be able to do without thinking. The rest of their small troop came tumbling in after, and they not only held against the guards of the West Gate, they drove them back. Jidanbou grunted, groaned, and the West Gate lifted and locked open.

"There," Jidanbou roared. He took two earth-shaking steps into Seireitei, and the guard broke and ran.

"Light the signal, Shiba-sama," Soi Fong said.

Kuukaku grinned, gave her a thumbs up, and grabbed a pack of fireworks wrapped in blue ribbons. She set them against the wall to prop them up, and lit them. Blue trails of fire blossomed in the sky. It was a signal for Ganju and his buddies to attack the Southern gate. And Soi Fong suddenly saw people coming out of the forest. The Clans had been ready. Gratified by their promptness, Soi Fong sought out Sasakibe and Jidanbou.

"Leave a detail here, let the Clan members in and when the green fireworks streak across the sky, close this Gate, Jidanbou."

"Close it?" the giant asked. "But why? Aren't there going to be more troops?"

"None that are not already within these walls, and we must stop Ichimaru Gin from returning to browbeat his troops into order."

"Ah...all right." The big man saluted, which annoyed Soi Fong as it reminded her too much of the long-dead Omaeda, and he strode off.

Soi Fong and Sasakibe flash stepped for the North gate, and she let all her reiatsu spread about her as a signal to her people. When she arrived at the North gate, a red flower shell went off from the South. She nodded in satisfaction.

When she arrived, she cried like a crow three times, and the shadows congealed behind panicked guardsmen not looking for an attack from within the mighty Wall.

Soi Fong motioned Sasakibe back: their reiatsu would only confuse the situation. The shadows slid onto the walls and into the guardrooms. Everyone not in ninja garb dropped within minutes.

"Now _that_ is how it should be done," Soi Fong murmured, toeing one snoring form.

Sasakibe gave her an uncomfortable look.

"No losses, complete control of the Gate." She sighed happily. "That is satisfying. All right, Kage, set up a team here to hold this Gate closed from all comers. I hope that the Shiba and the other Clans did as well with the East."

Sadly, the East Gate didn't go nearly as well. The squealing of pigs, the screaming, and the clash of blades was apparent blocks away, and Soi Fong sighed.

Stepping quickly forward to the Gate guardroom, she nearly ran herself onto a sword, but tumbled at the last instant, avoiding the edge. She gained a few bruises on the stone pavement, even as she threw her blade out to strike across tendons. The attacker fell with a cry. Several others fell soundlessly as the combined reiatsu of Soi Fong, Kuukaku, Sasakibe, and Clan nobles flooded the confined area of the Gate barracks. The next few moments were a scrum of sweating, bleeding, yelling bodies, kidou flying about, and finally it went silent.

Soi Fong now stood within _her_ city.

Panting, she eyed her allies, and found one of the Clansmen cut down and being tended by one of her regulars. Sasakibe had a light cut along one high-boned cheek, and another slash across his left arm. The Shiba siblings were bruised, singed, and smiling, so they were fine.

They all looked at her.

"Light the signal to close the Gate," Soi Fong growled. Spears of green light rose to the Heavens behind her, and she added, "Let's go. It's time to retake the Gotei 13 barracks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * From _Facing Snow_ by Du Fu. [Here is the poem in translation.](http://www.chinese-poems.com/d26.html)


	30. Ensemble: Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends just aren't who they used to be. -- by sophia_prester

**ENSEMBLE: WHO ARE YOU?**

  


"Hello, Ikkaku."

Ikkaku shoved Hisagi away from him, hard. A shard from the blasted-in door was buried deep in his shoulder, but he didn't care.

Yumichika waved at him lazily. He sounded stoned out of his mind. "I always knew you'd come."

Ikkaku had thought over and over about what he would do and what he might say when he saw Yumichika again, but it all flew straight out of his head with a roar as he unleashed Hoozukimaru.

All the rage, all the grief, all the crap he'd been through in the past few months--it blasted aside everything but blood-red anger and the pale, sickening thing in front of him.

Better to end it now, end it fast. He came down hard, all his weight and everything he had behind Hoozukimaru's blade.

He looked Yumichika in the eyes as the blow came down, because it didn't matter that Yumichika had lied to him, Ikkaku owed him that _and shit--they were the wrong color, and was that a mask... no, it wasn't, what the fuck..._

"Maa, maa... how sloppy." Yumichika stepped aside, raising his zanpakutou in a move that only seemed slow.

Ikkaku should have been to push right through such a lame defense, but the parry threw him clear to the side. He landed on something soft--some _one_ soft, judging by the shriek.

Yumichika strolled forward. "Hmmm... Imagine that. I'm stronger than you, now."

Ikkaku pushed himself back to his feet.

"It don't count if it's stolen strength, you fucking liar!"

He charged again, this time coming in low with a swipe that should spill Yumichika's guts all over the floor.

Yumichika knocked him through a wall.

* * *

Of course Ikkaku would jump in without thinking. Shuuhei dropped into ready position, preferring to take at least a second to assess the situation.

 _That's Eleventh Division for you,_ Kazeshini said, not sounding the least bit disapproving.

Harribel stood back and studied the room calmly, keeping her own counsel as usual. Her hand lifted towards the sword slung across her back. She cut her eyes to the side, briefly distracted by Ikkaku's wipeout and Pagally's shriek.

Ise-fukutaichou flashed to his side in that second. The Arrancar's explosive entry had left a gash in her neck. It didn't seem lethal, but blood seeped between her fingers as she kept pressure on it. "Quick. I wasn't at that last battle. What do I need to know?"

Shuuhei only remembered bits and flashes of that day, but with Kazeshini's help, he remembered the most important parts.

"Water zanpakutou. Think tsunami." In a small, closed-off space like this, they would be crushed and drowned in an instant if Harribel was able to use her resurreccion.

He got a sharp nod by way of answer, and Ise fell back just as Harribel used Grimmjow's attempt to wrestle her down to demonstrate what even one of her lesser attacks could do.

"Inoue! Yamada! To me!" Ise snapped. "That is an _order_ , Inoue!"

There was another crash as the wall between his office and his bedroom was shrapneled. "Don't!" Shuuhei called out as Lisa ran to interfere. "You're needed here!"

There was no time to explain to her about the crazy ideas that the Eleventh Division mistook for honor, but at least Ikkaku was getting Yumichika away from the main fight.

In the second it took for Shuuhei to yell at Lisa, Ogidou and Hoshibana both went for Harribel, and there was no room for him to unleash Kazeshini without killing both of them.

 _You may wanna watch that one,_ Kazeshini said, his attention on Ogidou, and Shuuhei felt himself fading back at the memory of the hate on the man's face.

_No worries, I got us._

Ogidou took a blast of energy full on to the chest, and he was flung back, sliding across the floor towards the shield Ise had set up around Yamada and the new kid. He lay still, but breathing, blue-pale and drenched.

Harribel's focus on Ogidou gave Hoshibana time to make his move. Shuuhei quickly got Lisa's attention so she could see him shield his eyes. It was barely in time, and he did catch a few flashes of light that felt a lot like getting a knock to the head.

Good thing he knew about the effects of Hoshibana's zanpakutou, as Hoshibana had not seen fit to warn him or Lisa to look away. Shit.

But right now, Harribel was a bigger problem than whether or not the others dealt with him as a trustworthy ally. The odds of them all surviving this fight were slim.

If it had been a normal opponent, even a Hollow, Hoshibana's Kemuisuishou should have left Harribel disoriented and half blind long enough for him to get in the killing blow. Instead, she shook her head like she was clearing water from her ears, and was able to trap Kemuisuishou in the hollow of her sword. One twist sent it clattering across the room, and on the followthrough she blasted Hoshibana in the other direction.

Kazeshini shouted joyfully as Shuuhei finally joined in the fight, unsheathed sword in one hand, kidou pooling in the other.

* * *

Ikkaku hit the ground hard, rolling right back to his feet. Everything hurt, but everything sang, thrumming with red anger and the fight.

Yumichika picked his way through the rubble and ruined furniture, placing each foot with finicky precision as he avoided the dust and the water that trickled in from the other room. He released Fujikujaku, but he called it by some other damned name. Maybe it wasn't even the same sword anymore.

Hell, Yumichika wasn't even the same guy anymore, for all he was prissing his way through the dirt the way he always used to.

Ikkaku's next strike actually got through, cutting deep into Yumichika's right arm. Same guy or not, the idiot still left the same damn openings. But it didn't take long before Ikkaku was on the defensive again, parrying blow after blow as Yumichika went for all _his_ usual weak spots.

They had sparred just like this so many times before. But this time, they weren't talking shit at each other and working to hammer out each other's weaknesses. Now, there was just the sound of their breath and the clash of metal against metal.

A dazzle in the corner of his eye told him Sparkles had used that trick sword of his again. Asshole. That was no way to fight.

"Y'bastard..." he panted. "Fucking had a kidou sword all this time an' never told me!"

"Oh? No... no, I didn't, did I?" Yumichika didn't even sound winded. He smirked. "Care to see? I'm sure you're _dying_ to see."

Ikkaku answered that with a leg swipe that failed horribly. He hit the ground, skidding into the remains of a bed, and got himself tangled up just enough to lose his balance. He had barely kicked free and regained his footing when he heard Yumichika sing-song an unfamiliar command.

" _Split and deviate, Ruri'iro Kujaku._ "

The four blades of Yumichika's sword glowed a sickly, green-tinged white, extending into these snaky _things_ , and before Ikkaku could do more than stare in disbelief one had coiled around his wrist and another wound round and around his neck. It began to squeeze as it lifted him off his feet.

* * *

Shuuhei barely evaded Harribel's attack, dropping hard to one knee. The blast missed his shoulder by less than an inch, and he heard a gurgling gasp from behind him--shit, Hoshibana must have been grazed or worse by what Shuuhei had just escaped. His kidou blast knocked Harribel off her stride, but only a bit. A weaker blast surged right past him, helping to keep her distracted--Hoshibana wasn't completely downed, then. Good.

Lisa's face was masked, and now that she had recovered from Hoshibana's shikai she was firing off cero after cero. She was not always aiming at Harribel, and it took him a moment to figure out what she was up to. Her sword was still sheathed, but he recalled that even in its sealed form, Haguro Tonbo was hideously unwieldy to use in a small, crowded space. So, Lisa had obviously decided to open up the field a bit, blasting away the wall between Shuuhei's rooms and the hallway running behind them.

Good. That might save some of their lives if they couldn't stop Harribel before she went into resurreccion.

Grimmjow was up again, snarling and shaking the water from his hair. The floor was now flooded past ankle height. Lisa rushed into her newly created open space, not even breaking stride as she kicked Ogidou onto his back so he wouldn't drown.

Harribel now sent a blast towards Ise's shield. The shield wavered and wobbled, and Ise's face was gray and her arms trembled from the strain. The water near her feet was tinged pink--not good, not good at all. She had a few seconds left at best.

Shuuhei, Hoshibana, and Grimmjow all leapt for Harribel at the same time, but a sword stroke and a casual blast beat them all back without trouble. Blood arced from Grimmjow's side as he was flung aside, and Hoshibana simply crumpled to the floor with a splash. As for Shuuhei, he wasn't sure what happened, only that he heard Kazeshini yelling at him and telling him to stay awake and get the hell up even as he somehow managed to pick himself up from the floor, coughing up filthy water. Each cough sent a sharp pain through his side, and blood mixed with the water.

Lisa had better luck, thanks to Vizard speed and strength, but all that meant was that she could exchange blows with Harribel and not immediately be beaten back.

But then as Lisa brought Haguro Tonbo across in a bone-breaking arc, Harribel pivoted and and grabbed it halfway, adding to the momentum and using Lisa's own strength against her to smash her against the jagged edge of the ruined wall. Haguro Tonbo fell to the ground. It did not revert to its sealed form, but Lisa's hip buckled and she screamed when she tried get to her feet.

Harribel looked at them all with calm contempt.

" _Destroy, Tiburon._ "

* * *

He was hungry, so very hungry. He was horribly tempted to devour this treat all at once, every last bit of it, in one gulp.

But that would be unseemly. And Yumichika did not care to be unseemly, even now.

Besides, he had been looking forward to this particular treat for _so_ long. It really would be a shame not to savor it. The waves of power surging through his vines ( _through his veins_ ) were familiar, deliciously familiar, and they blended with all the other waves. They were his, now. Forever. Always. Just as he was Harribel-sama's.

The waves crashed and his hunger ebbed. Not enough, though. Never enough.

He peered up at the bruised and bleeding form suspended in his vines. How odd. Ikkaku still struggled, even though there was almost nothing left in that form.

Yumichika remembered Ikkaku, of course. Remembered him well. But those memories were so far away, so insignificant.

It was as if they had happened to someone else, in some other place, in some other time. He ignored a small current of outrage deep below that did seem to think these things mattered.

It, too, was unimportant.

But he did wish it would be quiet as he contemplated all the ways he could consume this stolen life once he had taken it all inside himself.

* * *

Shuuhei knew there was pain as he coughed, and an even more troubling twinge as he got to his feet and drew Kazeshini, but he knew this as he might know a number, or a word. He didn't actually feel any of it. That weird sensation of watching from afar was back, and he didn't like it. Not liking it didn't change a damned thing, though.

Ise had dropped her shield. It wouldn't do a fucking thing against Harribel, he heard himself think, but neither would that offensive kidou she had prepared. It could buy him an opening, though, if he timed it just right...

Yeah, it might just work, he thought, and wondered what he was thinking.

Ise spoke the last parts of the incantation, swift and soft. An inner voice that was not quite his muttered the words along with her, counting, waiting...

"Reap, Kazeshini!"

He wasn't sure he spoke it out loud, and he knew he shouldn't speak it out loud. Ise was standing too close to Harribel, and he was too battered, too exhausted to have the kind of control he needed to keep Kazeshini's blades from going wild.

Before Shuuhei could tell himself to stop, Kazeshini was already flying, chains singing in the air.

* * *

Yumichika laughed as he felt Harribel-sama's resurreccion through the waves, like the notes of a wonderful song too deep to be heard.

Ikkaku had stopped moving, but he still struggled, the last tiny bit of his life clinging to its spot like a barnacle to a rock.

"Ah... fighting to the very end. It always was going to end that way for you, wasn't it?"

He thought he felt a ripple of withering contempt shudder through the vines.

Yumichika frowned and wondered why he frowned. Ikkaku was his friend. This should please him, should it not? To have Ikkaku like this, forever?

One more pull should end it. Yes.

Yumichika let the vines go slack just a bit, almost pushing back towards Ikkaku in preparation for that one last _yank_.

* * *

"... in the abyss of conflagration, wait at the far heavens!"

Two gouts of blue fire leapt from Ise's hands as she completed the incantation for Soren Sokatsui.

The high-level kidou knocked Harribel backwards. In a second, she would have recovered, but before that second could pass, Kazeshini struck her from behind.

Hisagi heard himself laugh with triumph as he pulled Kazeshini's chain back just in time to keep the blade from striking Ise. It came within maybe an inch of her nose, and the expression on her face as the blade jerked to a stop was one of the funniest things he'd ever seen ( _but it_ wasn't _funny, not at all..._ ).

He felt a warm surge of satisfaction as the blade severed Harribel's spine on the return trip, and he wondered what the everloving hell was wrong with him.

Kazeshini smacked back into his hand. Harribel was already turning to dust.

"Well, that's done. Good times."

Then, all at once he was _there_ again, and very aware of the burning pain in his side, and the rattle of water that was still in his lungs.

He finally collapsed, and rather than feeling detached, felt himself splash down hard, all the while very aware of Ise giving him the most peculiar look.

* * *

It was...

_a wild riptide, waves breaking high against cliffs, vicious undertow that pulled him down into darkness and the storm surge that flung him back up into the light and unbearable agony..._

... beautiful.

Harribel-sama's death crashed through him over and over, Tiburon's power breaking free and rushing through him, tearing everything in front of it to bits.

Yumichika screamed. The slack he had played in Ruri'iro Kujaku's vines became a channel, a torrent. Power spilled out of control, and things became clearer.

He recognized Harribel's cold, gray hunger as it coursed away, and something more familiar that was surging rapidly up from the depths, black brightening to blue-green and violet.

There was also something new, something that didn't belong for all that it was familiar. It was red-gold and roiling, and he knew it as well as he knew his own soul.

 _Send it back!_ came his own voice, finally released from the deep and crushing darkness that had silenced it for too long. _Now!_

Yumichika panicked. It wasn't supposed to work this way! He couldn't send things _back_ , could he? The flowers on Ruri'iro Kujaku's vines pulsed a bloody red, and he couldn't feel a damned thing from Ikkaku... No, wait. There it was. That little stubborn bit that still hung on fiercely.

"Oh, you are never going to forgive me for this, are you?" he drawled, laughing for all that his heart was breaking.

He didn't know if he even could return Ikkaku's life to him, or what would happen afterwards, but he would be damned if he didn't try. He concentrated on the memory of that Arrancar bitch's power as it had washed through him at her death, and once he had the sensation firm in his mind, he took hold of all that red-gold and he _pushed_.

It hurt like hell, but he didn't stop. The flowers twisted back into buds. Red faded to blue-white.

"Yes, yes, that's it... go on..." he whispered, grinning. Yes, Ikkaku would probably never forgive him, but that wasn't important. He pushed harder. The buds became bumps, and the bumps became spots, and then the spots went away.

Ikkaku coughed and pulled at the vine around his throat. It wasn't draining him, but it was still crushing him. Oh, yes. Right. He had to seal Ruri'iro Kujaku.

But he was so tired. His legs wobbled and he fell to his knees as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Ruri'iro Kujaku fell with a splash. Yumichika fell as well, but something caught him just before he blacked out completely.

* * *

Holy _shit_.

Ikkaku lowered Yumichika to the ground--not as carefully as he could have--then stood back up, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. He rubbed at his neck, still feeling a tingle where those freaky vine-tentacle-things had nearly strangled him, but that was all he felt. He'd had people try to strangle him before, and there was none of the tightness, none of the raw feeling he would have expected afterwards.

That was...

_Wow._

Ikkaku pulled at a gash in his hakama where Yumichika had sliced his thigh open. His leg was smeared with blood, but the wound was almost gone. It looked like maybe he'd had a run-in with a thorn bush, but nothing worse than that. Dozens of lesser wounds had healed completely, and that was the least of it.

"Damn, I feel like I could take on taichou and maybe not get my ass handed to me," he said, telling himself that no, he was _not_ going to giggle.

Yumichika was awake again, and struggling to sit up. "That went further than I expected," he said. He sounded loopy, but it wasn't like what had been there before. This was almost funny. And his eyes were the right color.

"No shit," Ikkaku grumbled. He prodded at his shoulder, and really hoped that the energy that Yumichika sent into him had pushed the piece of shrapnel out before healing things over. He didn't feel anything sharp kicking around in there, so maybe it was okay. "Fuck. No wonder you never picked up any scars in all these years. So, that really you again?"

"I think so?" Yumichika was a bit wobbly, but he got to his feet under his own steam.

"Glad to hear it." He walked back towards Yumichika. There was no shadow of bone over his friend's skin, no almost-hole at the base of his throat. "Guess she got into your head good, huh?"

Yumichika gave him a stricken look, then turned away with a _hmph_. Then, as he always did after a fight, he started trying to set his clothes and hair to rights. It all seemed more frantic than it usually did, though.

"Yes, I would say so," he said, just a little too fast to sound as disdainful as he was obviously trying for. "Honestly, _white_? I'd never wear this of my own free will--you know how pasty it makes me look. I have no idea what she was thinking."

Okay, so Yumichika had lied to him, but Ikkaku couldn't help laughing at that. "Yeah, you look like shit, all right. So, you had a kidou sword all this time, and you never told me? That's a _long_ fucking time to keep a secret, pal."

All those decades, and he didn't have a clue. He should be pissed. No, not pissed--furious. But even without seeing how Yumichika was focusing on his clothes rather than him, Ikkaku knew just how ashamed he was. Knew it, like he knew his own name.

Maybe it had come through in that energy backlash. Or maybe he just knew Yumichika that well, secrets or no secrets.

"Hell, you coulda won every fight we ever had with that whackadoodle thing."

Yumichika finally looked up at him, mouth and eyes tight with anger. "That wouldn't be _winning_ ," he snapped. "Winning is not the same as simply stopping someone. I _do_ know the difference."

"Huh." Ikkaku blinked in surprise. It made sense, though. Maybe it wasn't so odd that he'd gone decades without a clue. Chances were, Yumichika had only used his full shikai a dozen or so times, tops.

Yeah, Yumichika's sword could do a lot more than he let on, but that didn't mean he wasn't fighting fair.

"That still don't tell me why the hell you didn't say something."

The 'oh, _please_ ' look he received was classic Yumichika. "You know how it goes." He shrugged, and looked more embarrassed than Ikkaku had ever seen him. And he did look like crap in white.

"Guessing you didn't want to be laughed at, right?"

It wasn't funny, but Yumichika laughed. It sounded as wrong as he had when he'd walked in there all possessed by that Arrancar. "Yes. It's something like that."

"Huh. Okay. I guess I can see that." Ikkaku walked up and clapped Yumichika on the shoulder. "Damn, but it's good to see you again. The past couple of months have _sucked_."

Yumichika looked at him, startled, then finally smiled. Any trace of the Arrancar was gone. It was all Yumichika.

And that was Ikkaku's signal to clock Yumichika with a left hook that lifted him clean off his feet.

"That's for being a dumbass, you dumbass! You shoulda said something!"

Yumichika lay there for a moment, letting the water lap against his chin. "Yes," he sighed. "I should have. So, are we all right, then?"

"Damn straight we are." Ikkaku held out a hand to help him up. "But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll fucking kill you."

* * *

Shuuhei suspected he had a few broken ribs, and he had badly wrenched his shoulder and torn some muscles on that last fall, but there was nothing to do for it but sit back and wait.

Yamada followed normal triage protocol without hesitation, doing the bare minimum to keep Ise and Grimmjow from bleeding out before turning his attention to Ogidou. Once the most urgent cases had been dealt with, the more healers on deck, the better. As long as they weren't under attack again any time soon, Shuuhei's injuries were inconsequential.

"How long we got before someone starts poking around here?" Ikkaku asked.

"I'd say fifteen minutes at best, twenty if we're lucky. Squabbles like this aren't exactly uncommon these days. Everyone will probably assume it was Kurosaki going on a tear again and stay clear until it's safe." Ayasegawa said. He sounded groggy, and his reiatsu felt a bit weak. Weak, yes, but with nothing hollow-like about it.

Ikkaku frowned, then shrugged. "Could be worse."

"It could be worse, or it could be a lie," Ise said. Once Ogidou had gotten back to his feet, Yamada had turned his attention back to her, as she had enough skill as a healer to help with the lesser injuries. She looked Ayasegawa up and down, not bothering to hide her suspicion. "What happened in there, exactly? This is a rather sudden change in allegiance."

Shuuhei looked down at where Harribel's body had been. The two halves of it were completely gone, fallen to dust and swirling off into the water. "Well, if Ayasegawa was tied to Harribel, and she died..."

Ayasegawa gave a harsh, humorless laugh. "Yes. That was brilliant timing on your part. Even if it _did_ nearly break my mind."

"I do apologize, Madarame-san," Ise said, sounding not the least bit sorry, "but are you certain we can trust Ayasegawa now? You aren't exactly an unbiased party in this instance."

Ayasegawa looked more amused than offended, which in Hisagi's mind made him less suspicious rather than more, but Ikkaku went nearly purple.

"The hell? You're saying that, and you're all buddy-buddy with her?" He jerked his thumb over to where Lisa was lying on a piece of wall. Her chin rested on folded arms while Ogidou worked on her back and hip.

"That--that's different!" Ise spluttered.

"You're right, Nanao-chan. It _is_ different. I've been serving here of my own free will." Once she'd been given the all-clear from Ogidou, Lisa swung back around into a seated position. From the look on Ogidou's face, she may or may not have groped his ass in the process. "Yeah, it's under coercion 'cause I'm trying to save my own ass, and Hacchi's, but if I were you, I'd be trusting that guy more than I'd be trusting me right now. And he's right. We've got maybe fifteen minutes before things get interesting--well, less than that now."

Ise fumed, then took a deep breath. "Right. Yes. Then let's get everyone mobile, and quickly. Yamada, please see to Hoshibana, then Ayasegawa. Ogidou, you look after Grimmjow, Inoue, and the Arrancar girl."

Ogidou balked at being told what to do by a non-healer, but Yamada--who outranked him, if Hisagi remembered correctly--just shook his head and made sure Ogidou did as told before calmly going about setting Hoshibana's broken arm and collarbone.

Ise herself saw to Shuuhei. "I'm not as skilled as they are at healing," she said softly, "but I think this is more prudent under the circumstances."

Shuuhei, who was quite aware of the looks Ogidou had been giving him, agreed.

He hissed with pain as kidou seared through the torn muscles in his arm and shoulder--no, Ise was definitely _not_ from the Fourth--but then the pain was replaced with a pleasant warmth as the healing took hold.

"I'm amazed you could control your zanpakutou as you did, with the amount of pain you must have been in," she said. She was not as gentle as she might have been when she moved in to working on his ribs. "I'm surprised that you of all people would do something so risky. If you'd misjudged by even an inch, I would be dead along with that Arrancar."

For some reason, Ise scolding him as if she'd caught him bending back the spine of a book was more terrifying than being yelled at.

"You're right. It wasn't the smartest thing I could have done..." His voice trailed off as he tried to remember exactly what he had been thinking, or what he had said after. The usual hyperclarity of battle was not there. Kazeshini remained silent on the matter as well.

"Are you quite all right?" She looked over the tops of her glasses at him in a way that said she wasn't talking about his shoulder or his ribs.

"I--" The details of Harribel's death and his role in it were slipping away like a dream. It wasn't anything like when he'd killed Iemura, where even now he could still _feel_ the hot blood on his hand, or Iemura's weight slumping hard against him. "I'm not sure. I don't know."

"If we get the human girl, she can help!" Pagally chirped before Ise could say anything else. She was not as gravely injured as some of the others, but she had dozens of lacerations and was holding her wrist protectively against her chest and shivering.

Inoue started to second this suggestion, but Ise gave him a look that quieted him at once.

"We may have to change our plans given the amount of attention we've drawn," Ise said.

"Change 'em how? All we need to do is get back on the move. We haven't lost anyone, and we've got more help than we planned on," Ikkaku said. "Oi! Smiley! Hurry up there with Boy Blue--once he's on his feet again, we can move out."

Ise looked very much like she wanted to say something caustic, but she was busy with an incantation that would finish stabilizing Shuuhei's ribs.

Ayasegawa raised an eyebrow. "'Smiley?' 'Boy Blue?' What's all that about?"

"While you were, ah... incapacitated all these months, your friend picked up the--" Hoshibana cleared his throat, "--habit of assigning supposedly clever nicknames to those in his circle of acquaintance."

Ayasegawa laughed, while Ikkaku told both him and Hoshibana to shut the hell up.

"Nicknames? Really, Ikkaku. That's more the sort of thing fukutaichou--" He stopped laughing very quickly once he realized what he had said.

"Do you know what happened to her?" Nanao asked. "Or any of the missing? We heard that Aizen had prisoners--other than the Fourth Division, I mean."

Ayasegawa shook his head. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his face was nearly as pale as it had been when he was under Harribel's thrall. "I don't think she was killed... But I don't know. I really don't. I heard rumors of prisoners, from, well, from _her_ ," he said, wrinkling his nose at a puddle of ash-gray water.

"Like I told you, they say there's a couple of real powerful shinigami locked up in Aizen's private labs," Grimmjow said. He looked unpleasantly eager.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Well, Hacchi--Ushoda Hachigen--is one of them. We know that much. Maybe their old fukutaichou is the other. At least we know who we're looking for, now. That helps."

Ise went very still and very quiet.

"What?" Lisa asked, but Shuuhei knew at once who one of the missing had to be.

"There may be other prisoners you don't know about," Ise said. She was trying to sound reasonable, but her voice shook.

Lisa swore, then turned away so no one could see her face. She'd no doubt put the pieces together, even before Ise started listing the names of the missing.

Kyouraku Shunsui. Kuchiki Byakuya and Kuchiki Rukia. Abarai Renji. Ishida Uryuu.

"Um..." Yamada twisted his fingers and wouldn't quite meet anyone's eyes as he interrupted to tell them what had happened to Kuchiki Byakuya and his sister. His account was very brief. Too brief.

Shuuhei sighed. "You're leaving something out, Yamada, aren't you? I heard what was done to Kuchiki Rukia." He took a deep breath. He really didn't want to say any of this, but he had to. The others had to know what they might be facing. "Aizen turned her into an Arrancar. And she wasn't the only one. He got Kira as well. I haven't heard of any others, but we can't be sure."

Ise closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. "We'll need to assume the worst," she told them, and herself. "Kira is in Seireitei. We've had word of that much."

"Right," Shuuhei said. "And I know that something got sent over to Ichimaru the other day."

Something, or someone. Yamada looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so.

Ise took off her glasses and polished them on her sleeve. "Right," she said crisply. "This may have been our easiest battle. And Madarame-san is right--we didn't lose anyone, and we've gained a few allies."

She put her glasses back on, and looked up to where Ogidou was trying to heal Pagally. Pagally had backed away, protesting that she would wait for Orihime, thank-you-very-much, she didn't need some shinigami doing something horrible to her.

"As a matter of fact..." Ise said, and then her expression grew even more determined. Lisa looked up at her, head cocked, watching carefully. "Ogidou-san, leave off healing the girl, please."

Both Shuuhei and Ogidou protested, but Pagally sighed with relief, even though a huge bruise was forming under one eye and blood still seeped through a cut in one of her long, white gloves.

"I do apologize--" Ise paused, and cut a quick glance to Shuuhei.

"Pagally," he reminded her sharply.

Ise nodded, then turned back to the girl. "I do apologize, Pagally-san, but we need this to look right."

Everyone looked confused, but then Lisa grinned a very scary grin and thumped her fist and palm together. "Yes! Of course! And this also takes care of our Grimmjow problem."

"'Grimmjow problem?' What the fuck do you mean by 'Grimmjow problem?'" snarled the problem in question.

"Exactly!" said Ise, as if this was all as clear as day.

"Good thing I only knocked down the wall between us and the service hallway," Lisa said. "If I'd gotten the main hallway, that would make things trickier."

"What are you talking about? And why did you tell Ogidou to stop healing Pagally?" Shuuhei asked. Kazeshini was also demanding to know what the hell was going on. "She still needs a healer."

"Yes, she does." Ise's grin was fainter than Lisa's, but five times as scary. "And isn't that very lucky for us?"


	31. Orihime: Into First Gear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lies are lies, belief is belief, and it is a bad idea to stand around arguing while in enemy territory. -- by incandescens

**ORIHIME: INTO FIRST GEAR**

 

There had been no night, because there was never night inside these walls, and therefore there was no morning either. And that meant no eggs and bacon, or hot miso soup, or coffee, or orange juice with chocolate cereal, or maybe peppered smoked mackerel with avocado and scrambled egg, and possibly stuffed peppers on the side with homous and black treacle.

Orihime had nothing against tea, but it was so _boring_ with nothing else to go with it. There had been one brief, glorious, fascinating episode a couple of days ago when she’d managed to get her own meal from the servants. Ulquiorra had been looking into Grimmjow’s disappearance again, and he’d left her to take care of herself for the morning.

Even ordering her own choice of food had been a rebellion of sorts.

At the moment it seemed as far away as everything else – as far away as Karakura, as Soul Society, as everything outside these walls – as she sat here, staring at Ulquiorra as he stared at the wall, and failing to think of any topics of conversation that he would answer. It was like being in a very boring class at school, something where you had to stay alert and listen to what the teacher was saying in case they suddenly asked you a question about it, so you couldn’t think about other things or plot stuff in the margin of your exercise book or even stare at the blackboard while working out details of –

“Woman,” Ulquiorra said.

“Yes?” Orihime said politely. “Is there anything?”

He looked at her with those depthless green eyes, and she knew, she absolutely _knew_ that he was trying to decide why she was suddenly more cheerful. She hadn’t meant to give it away. She tried to look depressed but at the same time meaningfully loyal.

Someone knocked on the door. It was a fairly timid knock, but determined to make itself heard. Ulquiorra clearly paused his train of thought to stare at the door for a moment, before saying, “Come in.”

The door inched open, and a young female Arrancar inched into the room after it. She looked dishevelled and battered: her crest of hair was flattened, her clothing torn, and she had long scrapes along her arms and her left leg. She was also soaking wet. “Ulquiorra-sama, I beg pardon for disturbing you --“

“Get on with it,” Ulquiorra said, monotone, with a barely hidden _and it would not take more than a moment for me to kill you, so kindly do not waste my time._

“Harribel-sama’s gone mad!” the Arrancar blurted out. “She attacked Hisagi-sama – he’s really badly hurt, I came to ask for the honoured guest’s help in healing him. We’ve got someone from Fourth Division, but he’s not very useful and Hisagi-sama needs help _now_ and I’m sure Aizen-sama wouldn’t want Hisagi-sama to die and –“

“Quiet,” Ulquiorra said. His brows drew together in a frown. “You say that Harribel attacked him?”

The little Arrancar nodded. Drops of water splashed to the floor as her head bobbed up and down. “She came smashing in through his door. She wasn’t making any sense, she said that she wasn’t going to wait any longer, that she was going to kill all the other Espada and then Aizen-sama, but I think she thought he was dead after she hit him, because then she turned around and went –“

“Stop babbling,” Ulquiorra cut in. “The other Espada. Indeed.” He didn’t quite smile, but there was a subtle air of satisfaction about him. “That explains Grimmjow’s disappearance. Which direction did she go in?”

The Arrancar frowned. “I think she was heading towards the west quarters, Ulquiorra-sama. Please, Hisagi-sama is very badly hurt . . .”

Ulquiorra rose to his feet. “Woman.” Both Orihime and the Arrancar looked at him. He indicated Orihime. “You will accompany this servitor and preserve Hisagi’s life. If you are attacked, you have permission to defend yourself. If Aizen-sama comes out of seclusion and speaks to you, inform him of what has happened and tell him that I am locating Harribel. Is that understood?”

Orihime nodded, getting to her feet. “Yes,” she said, with mingled emotions. She didn’t like Hisagi – well, how could she, after he’d betrayed Soul Society? – but it still depressed her to think of him hurt like that. She hardly knew Harribel either. The female Espada had always swept past her, or looked at her with an assessing and despising eye, but never actually bothered to speak to her, with Ayasegawa-san following behind her and not even noticing that Orihime existed. That raised a thought. “Was – was Ayasegawa-san with her?”

Ulquiorra gave her the faint nod which indicated that she had done something intelligent. He turned to the Arrancar. “Well, was he?”

The little Arrancar gulped. She looked nervous. “I didn’t see him . . . there was all this water, and Harribel-sama’s reiatsu was so strong that I couldn’t really tell anything else or anyone else, but I suppose he might have been there. I don’t know . . .”

Ulquiorra looked at her disapprovingly. “Pitiful.”

Before he could say (or do) any more, Orihime quickly raised a hand for his attention. “Please may I go to Hisagi at once? If he’s that badly hurt, then I need to see to him as fast as possible. I’m sure Aizen-sama doesn’t want him dead.” Well, she didn’t _think_ he did. Hisagi had still been alive up to this morning, after all.

“You are probably correct,” Ulquiorra agreed, with a scornfully dismissive sneer. “Humans are weak. See to it.” Having neatly turned her request into an order from him, he strode to the door, his reiatsu already gathering in a cold prickle around him like winter fog.

“This way, honoured guest,” the little Arrancar said, venturing to tug at Orihime’s sleeve. “Please hurry.”

Orihime ran after the Arrancar along the white corridors. “What’s your name?” she gasped.

“Pagally,” the Arrancar called, fretting from foot to foot, clearly wanting to go faster. “ _Please_ , honoured guest, Hisagi-sama was so badly hurt, he was bleeding all over!”

“But you’ve got someone from Fourth Division there –“

“Yes, but he said he could only just keep him alive! That Harribel-sama had done horrible damage to him! That all his organs were going to fail!”

Orihime frowned. Harribel must have a _really_ nasty Resurrecion. “I’ll do what I can,” she promised.

As they approached Hisagi’s office, she began to see damage. There were cracks in the walls and ceiling, and water pooled in slow ripples along the floor. It somehow stole the perfect sheen from the glossy ivory of Hueco Mundo, leaving it looking shabby and faded. Orihime was panting now from trying to keep up with Pagally, but she couldn’t let herself fall behind. A few seconds might be the difference between life and death for Hisagi.

She gasped in shock when she came into the corridor that opened on Hisagi’s office. There was barely anything of it left. Walls had been shattered and doorways smashed open, and the whole area looked like a hollowed-out eggshell, with only the ceiling and floor whole.

“We moved him into the back room of his office,” Pagally said, eyeing Orihime as if she didn’t quite believe in her, or believe that she was here. “He said –“

“He can talk!” Orihime broke in. That took a weight off her mind. If he was still able to speak, then she probably _could_ save him. “You didn’t say that! Quick, take me through to him!”

“I was just about to do that,” Pagally grumbled. She grabbed Orihime’s hand and towed her round mounds of rubble and wide puddles. “Through here . . .” She rapped several times, oddly rhythmically, on the battered door in front of them. “It’s Pagally! And I’ve got Inoue-san!”

The door swung open so fast that Orihime thought it must have been yanked open. Hisagi was standing there! He grabbed Pagally by one shoulder and Orihime by the other, and tugged them both into the room, as Yadomaru Lisa slammed the door shut again.

There were other people standing around the room, but Orihime’s first concern was for the one who ought to be lying on the ground and bleeding. “Hisagi-san, are you sure you’re all right? If you’re badly hurt –“

“Not now,” Hisagi said, and though he was clearly battered and untidy and soaked through, and a cut along the side of his head was still raw and unhealed, he was smiling. “Inoue-san, there’s someone here who needs to see you. Inoue-san . . .” He turned her to face to her right. “Inoue-san.”

Orihime felt her mouth dropping open as though it belonged to someone else as she took in who it was standing there. He was in black shinigami clothing, and like everyone else in the room he was wet and bruised, but she would have known him out of a thousand others, no, out of a _million_ others.

He took her in his arms and held her against his shoulder. “Orihime-chan, it’s all right, it’s all right,” he was saying, and she was crying, all the great hurting tears that she would never have cried in front of Ulquiorra or Aizen, for in the shelter of his arms it was all right to be weak, it was understood, it was forgiven. Her big brother was here at last and she was safe.

With an effort she pulled away from him – a little, just enough so that she could turn around and look at the others – and saw who was there. Hisagi. That Ise woman who followed Kyouraku-taichou around. Ikkaku from Eleventh, and Yumichika looking much more alert and awake than he had been for ages now. Hanatarou. The Yadomaru Lisa woman. Grimmjow. (Grimmjow? Well, there must be some reason for it being Grimmjow. Perhaps he was being a rebel?) Some other people she didn’t know. “How do we get out of here?” she asked. “I may be able to get us past the gates, I don’t have any real authority but only the Espada would actually contradict me nowadays –“

Her brother squeezed her shoulder. “Orihime-chan, we’re not going quite yet.”

“We’re... not?” Her lower lip trembled. She knew that she should be brave, should have been brave, but it was very difficult. She bit the inside of her cheek. “No, I understand. We have to do something about this place.” Maybe that sounded adult and mature and not wanting to cry. She hoped so.

“You’ve been very strong,” her brother said. “We just need you to hold on a little longer . . .”

That did start her crying again. She turned back against him, trying to hide her face from the world. “I haven’t,” she sobbed into his chest. “I haven’t done anything, I came here because he said that they would kill you all if I didn’t, and then everyone came here because of me and it was all my fault that they were killed or hurt, and everything I do helps them, and –“

“Fuck that,” a familiar voice snarled. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her round, dragging her away from Sora and making her squeak. It was Grimmjow. “Look, girl, I did _not_ come here to hear you bitch about Aizen. If I wanted to hear people bitch about Aizen, I could just sit down with this load of morons and have my ears full of it.”

“Yeah, we all know what his ears are full of,” Ikkaku remarked aside to Yumichika.

“Right now I need some healing. Look at me.” Grimmjow shook her by the shoulder he was holding. “I mean, what the fuck, that bitch managed to cut me before she went down, and I want some patching up before I get some of my own back against Kurosaki or Aizen.”

Orihime blinked at his wide chest. It was streaked with blood from a long shallow slash. But there was something missing. “You haven’t got a hole,” she said in wonder.

Grimmjow made a noise between his teeth like a tiger exploding if it had been coupled up with a steam boiler. Probably the nozzle would have to go in at the mouth. “No. I. Have. Not. FUCKING. GOT. A HOLE. And you know why, girl? It’s because you fucking did it to me!”

“I cleansed you?” she said slowly.

“You did this to me!” He slammed his free hand against his stomach in a way that reminded her of how the boys at school used to punch each other in the stomach to show how manly they were. “Just look at it!”

“You let go of my sister!” Sora declared angrily.

“Not till she’s fixed me,” Grimmjow snarled back.

“Fixed you how?” Orihime said timidly. She scrubbed at her eyes with one white sleeve. “I mean, I’m not sure I can un-cleanse you, and even if you want me to, wouldn’t that mean you’d just go and try to kill us all over again? I don’t think it would be very sensible of me to do that?”

Grimmjow’s face twisted into an even more ferocious scowl. Pointy teeth showed. Finally, he said, “Fix this fucking wound, of course. What did you think I meant?”

“Oh!” Orihime was greatly relieved. “I had completely the wrong impression, I’m so very sorry. Please just stand there a moment while I fix it, and then I’ll see to everyone else. I’m very sorry, you should have _said_ that you wanted me to help.”

Small tasks. Little steps. If she looked at it that way, then perhaps she could make herself walk along the path back into danger without actually thinking about it.

“Orihime-chan, it’ll only be for a little while –“ Sora began, but then Ikkaku said something to him and the two of them began to talk quietly in the corner (Ikkaku had pulled Sora over there) and Orihime was too busy concentrating on rejecting Grimmjow’s wound to listen.

She couldn’t help being very proud of how her brother had become a shinigami and was on this mission. She’d tell him so, once they had a moment to themselves.

“I don’t mind her healing me,” said Pagally, looking rather smug. “It’s not as if she’s a shinigami, after all.” She bit back an _so she won’t do anything horrible to me_ but Orihime couldn’t help hearing it.

“Keep on working while I brief you,” Ise said. She looked at Orihime assessingly. “You can heal while listening to me, I think?”

Orihime nodded. “For something like this, certainly. I mean, it’s nothing too serious. For serious stuff I would have to focus harder. What – what are we going to do next?”

“What we’re going to ‘do’ is Aizen, right?” Grimmjow snarled.

“Technically yes,” Ise said. “In practice, by degrees. First we need to enter his private laboratories.” She must have seen Orihime’s face go pale. Orihime was sure that everyone in the room could see it. “We think some Captains are prisoners there,” she went on. “If we can free them, we will be that much stronger.”

Orihime moved her hand parallel to the wound on Grimmjow’s chest, and watched as it slowly sealed up, rather than have to look at Ise. “He’s never taken me in there,” she said, keeping her voice as calm and mature as she could. “I can’t tell you anything about what’s in there or who might be a prisoner. I only knew that Sado was a prisoner and Kuchiki-san had been killed and Ishida-kun . . .” She had to bite back tears again.

“I’m sorry,” Ise said gently. “We would have come earlier if we could.”

Orihime stopped herself from saying _Why didn’t you?_ but it hung in the air between them.

“Done,” Grimmjow announced. He stepped away from her, grabbed Hisagi by the shoulder, and pulled him over. “Here, finish this guy off while you’re at it, girl. It’s not like he’s got my strength.”

Hisagi glared at Grimmjow. Grimmjow smirked back at him, then began to prowl round the room, kicking idly at chunks of rubble.

But his interruption had broken the mood. Orihime was in control of herself again. “But how do you plan to get into his laboratories?” she asked. Maybe it was a deep secret plan involving disguising themselves as a new set of Espada who were going to fight to the death for Aizen’s approval.

Ise fiddled with her glasses. “Have you ever tried reversing kidou with your powers, Inoue-san?”

Orihime pursed her lips, and thought about it, and mended some of Hisagi’s bruises. “I don’t _think_ so,” she said. “But I suppose technically it’s like refusing anything else, isn’t it? I mean, if I can reject damage to people, and shield people from being attacked, then I suppose I can reject kidou in general. I was able to shield myself when Kuchiki-san threw practice blasts at me. So I suppose yes, I have.”

“Excellent,” Ise said, and a gleam of satisfaction flashed across her glasses. “Then you should be able to undo the kidou locks on the laboratory.”

Orihime bit her lip uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” Hisagi said. There was a glow to him that Orihime hadn’t seen in a long time. She’d come across him now and again through the months – or was it years? – that she’d been here, but she hadn’t seen him like this before. Not . . . happy. “And that explains why Aizen wanted to keep you here, Inoue-san. Yamamoto-soutaichou said so.”

“Said what?” Ise demanded.

“His pattern,” Hisagi explained. “Whenever Aizen came across something that might be a potential threat to him, he always tried to get it under his control. He was always very –“

“Thrifty?” Ise suggested.

“Paranoid,” Hisagi said with a sigh. ”And not was. Is. We should be moving.”

“Something of a control obsessive,” Ise said. She settled her glasses precisely on her nose and neatened her sleeves. “The sort of person who has to have everything exactly as planned, precisely as organised, every detail under their control . . . why are you looking at me like that, Ayasegawa?”

“You’d really be very pretty if you did something with your hair, Ise-fukutaichou,” Yumichika said a little too quickly.

“But what about everyone else?” Orihime asked. “And you haven’t told me what happened to all the other shinigami who I saw earlier . . . I mean . . .” She looked from Hisagi to Ise, her pulse hammering in her ears. She’d _liked_ all those other people. Rangiku. Ukitake. Hitsugaya. “Please?”

“Ukitake-taichou’s taking out Ichimaru while Soifon-taichou leads the attack on Seireitei,” her brother said, turning away from Ikkaku. “It’s all been planned out, Orihime-chan. These people are professional shinigami.”

“Like you, dumbass,” Ikkaku said, and hit her brother on the shoulder in his playful way. “But yeah. We’ve got a plan. And rescue operations which have got a plan have it ten to one over rescue operations that don’t have any plan. Zaraki-taichou always had a plan.”

“The man’s idea of a plan was to charge in screaming with his sword drawn,” one of the shinigami that Orihime didn’t know said frostily.

“So? That’s still a plan, right?” Ikkaku said.

“So what is the anti-Aizen plan?” Orihime asked hopefully.

The room was suddenly quiet as everyone paused their conversations to listen.

“We’re gonna kill him,” Grimmjow said. “See, it’s nice and simple. First we get everyone together. Then we kill him.”

Unfortunate honesty made Orihime speak her thoughts aloud. “But if you got hurt just fighting Harribel now, Grimmjow-san, and she wasn’t as powerful as Aizen, then how are you –“

Grimmjow surged forward and grabbed her shoulder. His fingers bit into her. “You are _not_ gonna talk to me like that,” he spat in her face. “It was you who got me into this in the first place –“

“Hey!” Ikkaku punched Grimmjow. He stumbled back, dragging Orihime with him. “Let go of the girl –“

“Watch the door,” Hisagi said briefly to Pagally, who nodded, eyes wide and nervous, and hurried over to lean beside it, her ear to the wall.

“This is ridiculous,” Ise snapped. “Would you kindly –“

The back wall didn’t blow apart, it _shredded_ apart, fragmenting into dust and tiny pieces that blew through the room like hail. Kurosaki-kun was standing there, his mask smiling and his sword drawn. “Cool,” he said. “It’s a party and I finally got an invitation.”

“The universe hates us,” Yadomaru Lisa said, rolling her eyes. “Why does this keep on happening?”

Orihime thought very hard. Grimmjow had let go of her shoulder, which helped. There were several possible courses of action.

Option one: tell Kurosaki-kun everything and hope that he would spontaneously revert to the proper Kurosaki Ichigo he’d always been before. Problem: this might not work.

Option two: tell Kurosaki-kun it was a fancy dress party. Problem: this might not work either.

Option three: play on Kurosaki-kun’s current over-excited state and try and get him to fight Aizen. Problem: it might not work and she didn’t think that it was _good_ to encourage that sort of attitude anyhow.

Option four: let the shinigami sort Kurosaki-kun out. That was probably safer anyhow, the last few months had only proven how useless she was, she’d just mess things up if she interfered, it would be better to stand back and just heal people or shield people when she was told to . . .

But what if that didn’t work?

“Right,” Yadomaru Lisa said, stepping forward. She spun her weapon – surely she hadn’t been holding it a moment ago – carelessly in her hand, ignoring the pike’s weight. “Remember last time, Kurosaki? When we were teaching you how to control that side of you that’s in control? We locked you up and thrashed you till you could handle it. Now I’m not saying that we can’t do it again –“

“You know you can’t, bitch,” Kurosaki-kun sneered.

“- but is this really what you want, right here, right now?” She gestured round at the others. “I’ll be honest with you, Kurosaki. None of us ever went as far as you’ve done and came out the other side. But whoever you are now, you can at least think, so chew on this one. Who are you really in this to fight?”

Kurosaki-kun pointed his sword at her. It was as big and imposing as usual. If anything, it was bigger. “I’m here to fight whoever’s strongest. You claiming that honour?”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous.” Grimmjow came crowding forward, strutting like a tomcat about to lift his tail and show his hindquarters. “Kurosaki – if it’s really Kurosaki behind that crap on your face –“

“More Kurosaki than you’ve ever really known, you piece of trash,” Kurosaki-kun snapped back.

“Yeah, fine, shove it up your ass and piss on it.” Grimmjow wasn’t bothering to draw his sword. He settled his fists on his hips. “See, kid, there’s something that you’re not getting here. I may have served Aizen, but I was never his fucking lapdog, and right now, that’s what you are. And if you want me to be honest about it . . .” He gave a shrug. “I’d rather fight you like you used to be. You were more of a challenge that way. Go on. Rip that mask off and give me some shit about how you’re going to protect someone. You want me to threaten your pretty redhead here? Would that make you hot for a real fight?”

“I’ll take you apart and grind what’s left into the dust,” Kurosaki-kun promised. His eyes burned lambent yellow. “Nobody takes what’s mine.”

“Now when the hell did you start talking like that?” Ikkaku strolled forward, almost lazily, his spear naked in his hand. “I was the one you met first in Soul Society, Kurosaki. You remember that? And you were a stupid kid, and you’re _still_ a stupid kid, but you had one thing right then. A man stands by his friends. And they’re not your property, asswipe. You don’t stick by them because you own them. You stick by them because they’re your people. Now maybe a Hollow doesn’t understand that, but Kurosaki Ichigo would. But the person I’m looking at right now, he has been sitting here in Hueco Mundo and living the high life while his friends got hurt and tortured and fucking killed.” The muscles in his arm stood out as he gripped his zanpakutou. “You sat by, you asshole, and you let Inoue and Sado and all the rest of them get broken, and you did nothing. So I’m going to talk to you like a big brother should. Get your head in order. Or I am going to fucking break it for you.”

Kurosaki-kun threw his head back and laughed, a high cackling screech. “You all try and try, but you don’t _get_ it. He’s gone. He’s lost. He gave up. I’m the only one here to talk to.”

“No,” a new voice said, and Orihime turned to see her own brother stepping forward. “I was a Hollow once.” He was shivering with the force of Kurosaki-kun’s reiatsu, barely able to stand in the face of it. “I was. And now I’m myself again. I don’t care what you’re saying. You lie.”

“And you’re dead,” Kurosaki-kun said, and swung his sword, and black fire leaped out from it in a hideous wave of force, driving directly at Sora.

Time moved slowly. It moved so slowly that Orihime could see the crackling darkness burn through the air as it blasted towards Sora, could count each jumping heartbeat in the pulse in Sora’s throat as he opened his mouth to say something more. The world narrowed to her, and Sora, and Kurosaki-kun.

Twice she had lost her brother.

There was not going to be a third time.

She was not going to lose anyone else.

Her shields spread round Sora as she rejected the bolt of force. The impact made her stagger, but she kept her balance. “No,” she said. “No, Kurosaki-kun.”

“No, what?” he demanded. The others were silent.

“No to _you_.” She spread her hands towards him. “I want the real Kurosaki-kun back.”

“Fool girl.” He was sneering again. “I _am_ the real Kurosaki-kun.”

Hollows lied. And shinigami lied. And living people lied, and dead people lied, and she herself had lied. What mattered now was what she believed. She didn’t believe this was the real Kurosaki-kun, even if he spoke with Kurosaki-kun’s voice and wielded his sword. Kurosaki-kun was _more_ than this. People had to be more than the worst that they could be, or what was the point?

The real Kurosaki-kun was the one who had protected her and Kuchiki Rukia and Sado and Ishida and his sisters and his father and everyone else. The real Kurosaki-kun was her friend. Once before she had left him because she wanted to save him, and that had failed.

Well then, she’d just have to keep on saving him until she got it right.

“I _reject_ ,” she said, and her shields wrapped him tight in their bonds of light as she brought her will to bear on him.

She was afraid for Sora, and for all her friends here, and most of all for Kurosaki-kun himself, and that fear gave her strength. But sometimes the princess had to save the dragon, and sometimes she had to save the prince as well, and sometimes the princess and the dragon and the knight all teamed up together and went to argue with the person who’d written the story and complain about how they never got anything interesting and new to do.

Kurosaki-kun was screaming at her. He was screaming so hard that she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“I’m sorry, Kurosaki-kun,” she whispered. She walked closer to him. The ground shivered under her feet. “We’re just going to have to keep on doing this until we manage to get it right. Don’t you remember what you told Kuchiki-kun –“

He screamed at her again.

“—the person being saved doesn’t get any say in the matter . . .”

“You can’t do this! Bitch! _Bitch!_ He’s mine! This doesn’t count! I’m the one in charge! I’m the king now! I’ll kill you and I’ll make you pay! Orihime!” The voice that came through the mask’s lips dropped to a sly wheedle. “He let me ride him, he doesn’t want to be in charge any more – you’ll only hurt him if you bring him back. You’ll just hurt him. Let me go and I’ll leave you alone, I’ll let you go, he’d thank you for it if he knew . . .”

“You really don’t know Kurosaki-kun if you believe that about him,” Orihime said. She could feel sorry for the thing now as it begged her. Another step brought her close enough to touch him. “Come back, Kurosaki-kun. Your friends need you.”

“Weak pitiful fools . . .” The words drooled out of his mouth like acid. “Worthless creatures, and he’s the worst of them . . . You’ll regret this . . . I’ll rule him again, and when I do . . .”

Orihime laid her hands on his shoulders and focused her will to a blinding intensity. Kurosaki-kun was trembling, and for a moment, for one brief second, she knew that she was strong and he was weak, and that she could choose for him.

So she chose.

“I reject.”

The mask flaked from him and blew away in dust, leaving his face naked to them all. His eyes were brown again, as they should be, and he was weeping.

“You shouldn’t cry, Kurosaki-kun,” Orihime murmured. She was astonished at how weak and thin her voice suddenly seemed to be. She’d felt so strong just a few seconds ago! There was a great empty pounding in her head, and she really wanted to lie down for a few minutes. Ise and Yadomaru Lisa were helping her sit down in a chair that had appeared out of nowhere – maybe she had a new magical power now, she could summon chairs – and she wanted to tell them that she would be absolutely fine in just a moment, or had she already told them that? – and everything would be fine, everything would be wonderful, but Kurosaki-kun shouldn’t be crying like that. Kurosaki-kun didn’t cry.

Kurosaki-kun scrubbed his arm across his eyes, then glared around him furiously. “Crap,” he said, his voice hoarse and rusty. “I don’t . . . listen, I’m sorry, I know it’s not enough . . .”

“Then don’t try saying it,” Ikkaku said. “That’s not why we’re here, kid.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Ise asked Orihime, very nicely. She waved her hand in front of Orihime.

“Lots and lots,” Orihime said. She kept on trying to add two and two together and getting the wrong answer. “But it’s very pretty,” she added, in case she’d hurt Ise’s feelings.

“But I . . .” Kurosaki-kun ran his fingers through his hair.

“He doesn’t seem to be able to finish his sentences,” Orihime confided to Ise. “Perhaps I wasn’t able to heal him enough for that. Do you think I should give it another try?”

“Absolutely not!” Ise snapped. Her glasses were scary. “Inoue-san, for the moment I need you to just sit down and breathe deeply and try to relax. You’re showing all the signs of someone who’s overextended their personal power and is on the brink of collapse and . . . can you understand a word I’m saying?”

“Could you say it again more slowly?” Orihime asked hopefully.

Ise and Lisa exchanged glances. Lisa shrugged. “Just because she’s not fitted with handles doesn’t mean she can’t be carried.”

“It was Zaraki,” Kurosaki-kun said. He was talking with Ikkaku and Yumichika, and their conversation seemed to have skipped several paragraphs while Orihime wasn’t looking. It was very sneaky of the universe to turn the pages while her attention was elsewhere. “He’d killed this big Espada who’d been fighting me –“

“The Captain would never break in on someone else’s fight,” Yumichika said disapprovingly.

“Well, yeah. See, I _was_ going to go on and find Inoue-san. He told me to. And he killed the Espada. But then he looked at me and he started calling me Aizen.” Kurosaki-kun hunched his shoulders defensively. “And I looked round and I saw Aizen standing over to one side and I said look, he’s _there_ , but Zaraki didn’t even hear what he was saying. He started attacking me. I had to fight back. I had to.”

“And that’s when that thing took control?” Ikkaku asked.

Kurosaki-kun sighed. “Yeah.”

“So it saved your life?”

“Well . . .” Kurosaki-kun didn’t seem to know where to look. “I don’t know. I was trying to get through to Zaraki, but he kept on calling me Aizen, and Yachiru didn’t even seem to see that there was a fight going on, and . . .” He trailed off again. “I killed him,” he finally said. “I killed him.”

Ikkaku and Yumichika looked at each other. Ikkaku slowly nodded, as though a suspicion had been confirmed, but he really didn’t look surprised.

Yumichika tossed his head. “I suppose I did know, but I didn’t think to care,” he said. “I make no excuses. The bitch had me in her masterful grip and I was weak.”

“I’d say that shows just how bad she did have you,” Ikkaku said. Then he punched Kurosaki-kun in the shoulder. “It’s the way he’d have wanted to go.”

“Madarame is quite right,” Yumichika said, though he didn’t punch Kurosaki-kun. “You were strong enough to beat the Captain. He went down in a proper fight. He wouldn’t have asked for anything better. Aizen was the one responsible.”

“Yeah,” Ikkaku said. “You want to be a dumbass and blame yourself, do it on your own time. Right now we’ve got something to do. You in?”

“What is it?” Kurosaki-kun asked numbly.

“Kill Aizen.”

“Oh.” Kurosaki-kun raised his head again, and his eyes were suddenly focused, his posture firm and ready. “Oh yes. I’m in.”

He looked so intense, so determined. Orihime wanted to believe in him. But at the same time, he looked so fragile, so barely in control, like cracked glass scarcely holding together over an inner core of fire.

“Inoue-san?” It was Ise again, checking her pulse. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I knew about Zaraki-taichou,” she said sleepily. She was very tired. Perhaps she’d feel better in a few minutes. “Ulquiorra took me to see the body. He wanted to make sure that he was dead. But it’s true, he was happy. He was smiling.”

Ise didn’t say anything, though her mouth tightened a little in what might have been disapproval, or dry understanding. Her hand tightened on Orihime’s wrist. “And Yachiru?”

“I don’t know about what happened to her,” Orihime said. A prickle of conscience speared her, not for the first time. “I asked, I did ask, but –“ It was suddenly very important to her that they all believe that she had at least _tried_.

“It’s all right,” Ise said, and released her wrist, standing up. “But we need to be moving, Inoue-san. We want to get out of here and into Aizen’s private laboratories before Ulquiorra thinks to come looking for you again.”

The thought of that made Orihime look over her shoulder nervously. “Shouldn’t we be going, then?”

Hisagi turned to the little Arrancar. “Pagally . . .”

“I can go on ahead first and check the corridors are clear,” Pagally said firmly, hands locked together behind her back. “I won’t – I can’t go in there again with you, but I can make sure that the way is clear for you to get there – I’ll do what I can –“

Hisagi nodded. “Thank you, Pagally. That is a great deal. People? Are we ready?”

“Ready and fucking bored with waiting,” Grimmjow said.

“Let’s go,” Kurosaki-kun said, and there were nods around the room.

\---  



	32. Ukitake: Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gin has Hinamori pinned down, and Jyuushiro and his team are all willing to make a few sacrifices to meet their objective; but Jyuushiro refuses to make it _easy_ \-- by liralenli

**Ukitake: Sacrifices**

  


The plan fell apart like a week-old rose, as Hinamori now lay in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jyuushiro was used to plans that fell apart. Hinamori's reiatsu showed her exhaustion, helplessness, grief, pain for her friends, and hot rage. Ichimaru's intent was cruel as he kicked Hinamori in the stomach. Tobiume spun away into the wreckage.

All plans were perfect until they make contact with the enemy, but thankfully Gin started speaking to her. Jyuushiro coughed wetly to get an obstruction out of his lungs and spat. Blood stained the broken floor boards. He felt so tired, but there was only a little ways more to go.

"Isane, get Hinamori." Jyuushiro rasped a cough, then continued, "When he's distracted, pull her _out_."

Without a word, Isane fled Jyuushiro's side.

Takano's reiatsu signature glowed steady on the ground floor, a few dozen yards away and down. Getting Gin to follow Jyuushiro over that deadly ground would get him off Hinamori. Jyuushiro straightened, took two quick steps onto the fractured, hanging balcony. He felt it sway under his feet. It would hold long enough. He would hold long enough.

Gin slid a foot under Hinamori and rolled her over. Jyuushiro tensed when Shinsou's tip dipped forward, but the steel pulled up something that glinted gold.

Drawing Sogyo no Kotowari, Jyuushiro released his reiatsu like a wave through the house. He saw Ichimaru Gin flinch and glance up at him, away from the girl at his feet.

"All waves rise now and become my shield. Lightning, strike now and become my blade."

Sogyo no Kotowari split, the charms sang as they parted, and the red silk cord lengthened between them even as the hooks grew along the backs of the blades. Jyuushiro felt the called spirits as they came to him, and he invited them in. Their power flowed through him as potent as any drug or drink, and with an impulse of will, he fired one of Sogyo no Kotowari's lightning strikes at Gin's head.

Gin ducked, swearing.

When Gin bent toward Hinamori, Jyuushiro readied another blast. There was no killing intent, however, coming from the silver-haired man. For just an instant, all that spilled from Gin was a mixture of confusion, grief, and rage. Then the slender man grabbed something from around Hinamori's throat and pulled. The snap of chain made Hinamori gasp, and her rage spiked and burned hotter. Jyuushiro growled, and using the last of his reiatsu reserves, he fired another bolt at Gin.

This time it struck the distracted man on the shoulder, spinning him away from the girl. With a snarl, Ichimaru Gin raised his zanpakutou and bit out, "Shinsou, _ikorose_."

Jyuushiro spun aside, even as Gin's blade came up. Plaster and wood exploded behind him. He didn't bother with flash step. He didn't _want_ to lose Gin. He ran for the library.

He burst into the ruined room, and, for an instant, Jyuushiro thought about just standing there in the library, next to the gaping hole Kira and Hinamori had made with the desk and the sliding avalanche of destroyed books, torn pages, and splintered, polished hardwoods. It would be fitting to die with the already desecrated knowledge in the midst of the remains of the high-minded past. Jyuushiro could think of no better way to follow Shunsui, to grab on to Gin and just make sure they died together, and just leave the rest to the youngsters.

Then through the ragged hole in the floor, Takano Dan gave Jyuushiro a thumbs-up when Gin's desert snake reiatsu flooded the library.

 _Ladies are clear. I got him,_ Takano mouthed. _Get out, Taichou._

The implication that only when Jyuushiro left would Takano blow the room to Heaven's mercy, gave Jyuushiro no choice. He gave Takano the salute he knew he needed to give, and then he flash-stepped to the abused balcony. Gin came running, shouting and cursing, and when he caught a glimpse of Jyuushiro outside, he came charging out. Jyuushiro stopped. He didn't want Gin to go too far. Something in Jyuushiro's stillness gave Gin pause, and he stopped in the middle of the library, narrow eyes darting about the room.

Then everything roared and heaved. The balcony broke and fell. Jyuushiro used shunpo to jump at the nearest tree, forty yards away. The powerful blast shoved him, and then the branches of a tree hit him hard enough to raise welts. The whole tree swayed and creaked with his weight, but better the giving branches than the hard ground. Jyuushiro slid and hit the next set of branches down with an impact that made him grunt. Carefully directed shunpo turned the fall into something more controlled, but his legs folded under him when he hit the ground.

All Jyuushiro could do was watch as the enormous old mansion, with holes blasted out the front and back, a fire roaring in the midst, and great cavernous gaps where one side used to be, began to fall down. Wood and stone, glass and metal, all screamed protest as the upper floor slumped down as gracefully as an old matron fainting on a hot summer day. Walls collapsed, windows burst, and tiles fell in a crash and clattered on the courtyard pavement.

Jyuushiro couldn't see anyone in the cloud of dust, but reiatsu signatures lay in all directions. He closed his eyes. Hinamori's fire and Isane's ice were together over there. Takano's sense of order was gone, his power and presence nowhere to be found. The loss of Takano bit at Jyuushiro, but the warrior had died striking at their enemy, and with that cold comfort, Jyuushiro had to let it go.

Jyuushiro felt a combination of frustration and pride at sensing Iba's and Shirogane's reiatsu approaching the house from the other side. He'd meant for them to go with the youngsters. But he became glad of their return when he sensed Gin, still alive in the midst of the wreckage. If Gin survived this encounter, there would be no safe place for anyone.

The niceties of combat had long gone by the wayside. The power discrepancy between Gin, what Aizen might have made of Gin, and what Jyuushiro and his people were defending led to traps and deceptions. Jyuushiro felt more like the leader of a pack of wolves going after a diseased and rampaging bull elk than a hero, but he didn't have to throw all his morals on the bonfire of necessity.

Then an image of the tattered, torn, and badly remade Hitsugaya came to Jyuushiro. That was why they fought the way they fought, to avoid having that done to them, to destroy the rotted fruit of Aizen's efforts. Jyuushiro bit his lip as his mind took the next logical step. Shunsui might have had something equally horrible done to him, but his power was such that Aizen would never have trusted the result to Gin. There might be no reunion with Shunsui if Jyuushiro lay down and died. Jyuushiro might have to survive to cleanse Shunsui, and that thought made him tremble even as it gave him the courage for this next step.

Tearing off one of his sleeves, Jyuushiro ripped open the seam, folded it in half, and wrapped the cloth about his face. It would be better if he could wet it, but he made do with what he had. He used Sogyo no Kotowari to get back onto his feet, both sword spirits murmuring quiet encouragement even as their edges bit into loam and dirt.

Facing Ichimaru directly was utter folly. Still, with four of his subordinates now on the field, and three wielding a Vice-Captain's strength, making Gin focus on him might give them a chance they otherwise would not have.

Jyuushiro staggered twice, coughed once, and then made his way back into the wreckage of the house.

The silence, the lack of movement, made him move all the more cautiously. Gin's reiatsu signature changed. Moving around crumbling pylons of plaster and wood, he found Gin bent over something on the ground. It glinted, as Gin stood up, his right side to Jyuushiro, narrow eyes focused on pale fingers. Within Gin's hand was a ring.

It was Matsumoto's ring.

Hinamori had kept it on the necklace, close to her heart. When Gin took the necklace, he must have not seen it the first time and let it slide from the broken chain. Now, he'd found it in the wreck of the house.

A scream of utter rage ripped from Gin's throat.

Jyuushiro jumped back behind the cover afforded by a pile of rock that had once been a fireplace. He heard scrambling, gasps, and rubble fall from at least two other positions about the crumbling house. Killing intent flooded the area like a blast of oven-hot air.

"I'm not just gonna kill you all, I'm gonna rip each'n every fuckin' one of you lot to shreds. You've kept me from her and kept me from her, and now... She'd have never given up this ring I gave her. If she did then she's fuckin' _dead_ and if she ain't ever coming back, then you're not either." The low, cold voice was all the more terrifying in the wake of that raw scream.

A pebble fell on the far side of the house. Jyuushiro took a quick look around his rocks, but a fireball sizzled toward him, and he threw himself back behind the stone. The ball splashed against a tree, and it roared into flames. Gin laughed. Another fireball sizzled in the direction of a slide of debris, and someone cried out.

The iron-bar strength of Iba suddenly focused, solidified under Jyuushiro's senses just as Shirogane's quicksilver intent flowed. Jyuushiro's eyes widened, and he threw himself around the piled rock, despite his body's instinctive flinch against going back where a fireball had just been.

Seeing Gin turn toward him, Jyuushiro knew he was too tired, too overdrawn already on the accounts of his strength, will, and endurance. He couldn't hide the fact that he was weak, tired, and unable to breathe or center properly.

It was nearly all Jyuushiro could do to just stand there.

But because he stood, Jyuushiro saw what had happened to Gin. While Gin had survived Takano's blast, he'd taken terrible damage. Gin's robes hung like charred ribbons from the fire-eaten left side of his body, and bone shone white through charred and wrecked flesh. White hair had burned black against Gin's scalp. The ring glinted in his ruined left hand. His right side was still whole, and his right hand closed about Shinsou's hilt as he turned toward Jyuushiro.

Readying his stance, Jyuushiro felt Iba and Shirogane use the cover of his reiatsu to get closer to Gin.

Gin snarled and fired Shinsou directly at Jyuushiro's head.

Jyuushiro fell down.

It was the fastest way to escape the blade. He heard it hiss like an angry snake over his head as he rolled to the side. Jyuushiro got up, getting his feet firmly under him before he came up over a tumbled and burnt couch.

" _Ikorose_ , Shinsou!" Gin gritted through clenched teeth.

Sogyo no Kotowari leapt into the way, dragging Jyuushiro's hands with him, and together they deflected the tip of the sword from the center of Jyuushiro's torso just barely to the side. The edge sliced deep, and Isane cried out, "Taichou!"

Jyuushiro staggered and fell to his right. He felt the edge of Shinsou catch and drag within his flesh, and he used his own wound to buy his people more time.

That was when the silver flash of Shirogane's zanpakutou filled the area with light, and right on the heels of the swell in her reiatsu, Iba released as well. Jyuushiro watched as Shirogane strode out from behind a smoldering mass of fallen wall hangings. She took two gliding steps toward Gin.

Gin gave a cry that almost sounded glad. Kido blasted from his fingertips. Iba shouted and a triangular shield flung itself in the way. Red fire splashed everywhere, as drapes and wood splinters caught. Shirogane flinched. Gin gave a yank on Shinsou's hilt, and Jyuushiro groaned as metal slid free. Shirogane didn't hesitate twice. Her blade sprang forward, hissing.

Two tongues of steel flashed. Blood flew.

A split second later, Iba rose from the shadows; and the huge, triangular metal falchion with the wicked tooth of a pick arced through the dust-filled air.

Shirogane fell, blood springing from her lips as a slash gaped open across her throat. With the surprise attack by Iba, Gin couldn't go for a deep stab, but with Shinsou's accuracy, he could get away with a slash and still be free for the second attack; however, Shirogane had left her mark, as a wound gaped along Gin's left shoulder and blackened chest.

Gin snarled, spun to Iba's weak side. Shinsou slashed from hip to shoulder, and Iba staggered. Gin stepped in close, making it personal. He pressed into Iba's back, and shot Shinsou through the big man.

Blood splattered against broken walls, Iba arched and cried out as Gin dragged Shinsou out of Iba's body just in time to block Shirogane, blood streaming from her throat. She gave a frustrated, choked sound and swung her sword around, and was blocked, again and again.

"I'm done playin' with you, little girl," Gin snarled. He pushed on their crossed blades, and both of them slid back three paces.

Jyuushiro saw Shirogane take two bubbling breaths, and then her focus sharpened, deepened. When she flew toward Gin, he said, " _Ikorose_ , Shinsou."

Before Shirogane could reach Gin, Shinsou slammed through her chest, flinging her past scorched wood and burning furniture and into the remains of a wall. She slumped and fell in a boneless heap, hidden by broken wood and stone; and her intent and reiatsu were gone.

Gin's intent turned toward Jyuushiro.

Jyuushiro widened his stance, and let his body and spirit react. Shinsou's strikes were so fast he couldn't see them, but he could feel them. Between intent, reiatsu, trained reflex, and sheer luck, Jyuushiro managed to parry, block, or duck half a dozen strikes. Wood splinters from shattered beams sliced open his cheek, and a chip of rock ripped into his arm, slowing him enough that a parry allowed the tip of Shinsou to neatly pierce Jyuushiro's left thigh, just below his hip.

The withdrawn blade brought a snarling yelp of satisfaction from Gin that sounded more bestial than human. "Blood. I've hit you again. Yer gettin' tired. Yain't reactin' nearly as fast as I kin shoot, Taichou. You've got no chance."

Jyuushiro panted and nodded. Anything to keep his attention. Isane's reiatsu signature crawled amid the wreckage, flitting from Shirogane to Iba, and Hinamori's flickering fire grew steady. "Keep coming closer, Gin and you'll see how much I can take," Jyuushiro gasped.

"You can't even blast me, can you, Taichou? You're too worn out and fucked up to even freakin' _hit_ me. An' I ain't stupid enough ta fire kido at your boomerang of a zanpakutou. Don't want it coming right back at me."

Gin was frighteningly correct, Jyuushiro thought. He'd used nearly everything he had, and so long as Gin didn't use energy blasts or kido, Jyuushiro would have nothing to throw back.

Jyuushiro walked toward Gin anyway.

Gin chuckled, and Shinsou shot toward Jyuushiro. Jyuushiro barely blocked the strike to his chest, but block it he did, just far enough that when the edge sliced his side, his ribs kept vital organs safe.

A high, defiant voice cried out, "Tobiume, _hajike_!"

Jyuushiro stopped.

Hinamori's shikai burst free, and it felt like a bonfire built too high and hot. A fireball snapped into being and exploded, but well over Gin's head.

Gin ducked and laughed nastily. "So much for not interferin' in other people's fights huh?"

For one instant, Jyuushiro thought about just rushing Gin, doing it by the rules of honor. Of a quick exchange that might leave him dead, but would allow him to rest.

"You don't deserve a fair fight!" Hinamori shouted. "After what you did to poor Kira and Shiro-chan! You deserve to burn."

Hinamori's reiatsu burst into a conflagration of rage and killing intent, and Jyuushiro cast away his doubts. His people's sacrifices were real, significant, even if they weren't by the old rules of conduct. Hitsugaya's horrible transformation weighed on him, especially in the light of what that might mean for the missing. Jyuushiro counted Kira's and Hitsugaya's deaths along with Takano's and Shirogane's. Jyuushiro had to honor what all of them had given. He had to stay alive, stay fighting, and do everything he could do.

After everything they'd been through, Jyuushiro knew his people would all attack as long as they were able. Their pride was a different thing now, even against the impossible odds Gin presented. He knew none of them were afraid of dying, but that was no longer the point. The point was that they had to kill Gin, not just for their own lives, but for the success of the Seireitei efforts and to provide cover for those in Hueco Mundo.

Near the seethe of energy Hinamori had become, Isane's voice chanted, "Ye lord! Mask of flesh and bone, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Truth and temperance, upon this sinless wall of dreams unleash but slightly the wrath of your claws. _Destructive Art 33: Blue Fire, Crash Down!"_

When the bolt of blue came at Jyuushiro, it did not surprise him. It smashed through debris and cleared a path between himself and Hinamori, whose figure wavered and shimmered with heat. Jyuushiro caught the residuals of the blast in Sogyo no Kotowari left blade; the charms shone, one after the other, and he aimed the return at Gin, who swore and countered.

Desperate, Gin turned toward Hinamori and started shooting. The debris that had stopped Hinamori's fireball worked as cover for the girl. Three rapid-fired shots of steel gained Gin nothing. Then Hinamori shouted, the strain evident in her voice, "Tobiume, Comet Strike!"

Volcanic heat exploded toward Jyuushiro. He had no time for doubt, no room for worry as to what would happen if he couldn't handle all of that force. Jyuushiro braced into the wind of its coming, and held Sogyo no Kotowari aimed at the heart of it. He and his sword spirit caught it together, and this time he felt the energy burn through the connection of the charms. Each tag burst into flame as the blast touched them, and Jyuushiro accelerated and magnified the power through Sogyo no Kotowari's capabilities.

Jyuushiro flung the tip of his right sword at the staring Ichimaru Gin, and the enormous ball of molten fury came out five times bigger and five times faster than it had come at Jyuushiro.

It hit Gin.

The ex-Captain's reiatsu shielded him to the last moment. Then Gin's power bent and shattered. The flames roared while Gin screamed and crisped. The black shadow of the slender man jerked and writhed, and finally fell.

The heat shimmer of Hinamori's power blew out. The girl crumpled.

Jyuushiro ran to Gin, just in time to see Shinsou revert to its bound form, a simple sword with a burned clean hilt. The metal was warped and bent after the heat of the conflagration that had devoured its master. To Jyuushiro's horror, Gin's blackened form moved.

Dropping to his knees amid embers, Jyuushiro heard his own blood hit the ashes and hiss on the hot remains. Smoke wisped from Sogyo no Kotowari's blackened charms. Gin's eyes opened, glinted red before slitting closed again. Gin gave a rattling sigh, shifted, and whispered. "Come on here. Need ta..." He coughed and something broke off the charred man. Gin cursed.

Jyuushiro ignored the thousand small details of Gin's dying, and concentrated on Gin's killing intent. His intent remained strong, and that made Jyuushiro wary.

Gin coughed a laugh. "That's right. Treat me like the snake in the grass I am. Biting anyone that comes close enough. It's all I've ever been." He drew a difficult breath. "All I've ever been to everyone... 'cept her." The gold ring rolled gleaming and bright from ash-blackened hands.

"Jus'... jus' wanted her to never cry 'gain," Gin whispered. "Woulda taken on the world fer her, won it, and handed it over like a locket onna chain. But..."

The tone changed, and Jyuushiro, warned by the whisper of rage that trickled from the dying man, got off his knees. The cut in his leg and side made Jyuushiro hesitate and sway, but he managed to move back a pace, and then another. To his relief he felt Iba, Isane, and Hinamori behind him. All but Isane were low and flickering, but they weren't out. Not yet.

"But you've killed me, Ukitake. Killed me and her. Might get ta see her in the next life, but I'll never know. So I gotta present for you and your tasty underlings. Some little thang Aizen-sama gave me. Too bad it's gonna eat you first, as it jus' loves power, but you won't haveta watch yer sweet underlings die first."

Rasping another chuckle, Gin said, "Wawl, at least you'll know you gave it the power ta eat the resta your people. That'll have to be good 'nuff for me."

Skin cracked and fell off, as Gin reached into a pocket to pull a glass vial out. Gin's breathing sobbed, but then he growled as he raised a cracked and bleeding hand and smashed it down on the tiles beneath him.

Glass shattered.

At first it was impossible to see that anything had changed. Jyuushiro opened his senses, and he felt an emptiness that was somehow terribly familiar. Something he'd felt on the field of the faked Karakura, deadly and cold and absolute.

Gin screamed as blackened fingers went from char to eaten bone to floating ash. Then, against the gray of stone and white of fallen plaster, Jyuushiro saw the creeping blackness. He remembered: Barragan.

The shadow doubled in size, and engulfed Gin's arm and shoulder. Gin twisted, flopped, and screamed in agony again, as the shard of the impossibly old Arrancar devoured the dying man, growing as it went. Jyuushiro stumbled back another three paces, and strong arms caught him.

Iba growled in Jyuushiro's ear. "It's growing, Taichou."

"It's getting faster," Isane's voice was soft, coming from where she crouched by Shirogane's body, nearer Gin than Jyuushiro liked.

"All of you run, take Hinamori with you. I can hold it," Jyuushiro said.

Isane dropped her medical kit on the ground by Shirogane, and ran over to Jyuushiro. "Iba, help him on my back?"

"What?" Jyuushiro asked in shock; but even as he said it, he sheathed Sogyo no Kotowari. "You can't."

"She can. She's the only one that can run," Iba said gruffly. The big man limped over, picked Jyuushiro bodily from the ground. Iba made a sound of agony at the effort. Humbled, Jyuushiro clasped Isane's hips with his legs, her shoulders and neck with his arms, and felt twelve again as he rode piggy-back.

"You're so light, Taichou," Isane scolded. Jyuushiro smiled into her hair. If she could do that, then she couldn't be too terrified.

The screaming suddenly fell silent. They all watched as a shadow nearly as big as a man slowly flowed toward Jyuushiro. Everything crumbled into dust in its wake: stone turned to sand, wood to cinder, thread to ash, and as everything died and scattered the shadow grew. Jyuushiro sighed in relief as it went within a foot of Shirogane's still form and didn't turn aside. It headed directly for him and Isane.

As Isane started off, Jyuushiro cried out, "Call the Seireitei team, tell them about Gin, and ask for help!"

Iba waved in acknowledgement, and stepped back away from the shadow.

Jyuushiro thought about what would happen if Soi Fong and her people failed, and he grimly put it from his mind. If they'd died trying to do their job, then everyone would be dead soon enough. Best to play it as if they would survive, concentrate on what they _could_ do, keep to the possibility until it played out. Worry then about what to do next, and Jyuushiro instantly started to work through a plan to get Isane to leave him in the forest. It was a far trickier problem than Jyuushiro liked.

"Isane," Jyuushiro husked, as his own exhaustion crashed in on him. "Run parallel to the walls of Seireitei. We don't want to bring that thing where there are people, and we don't want to go too far away from their help."

"Do you really think help will come?" Isane asked breathlessly.

"Yes," Jyuushiro said, lying between his teeth, but knowing that it was the only way he and his charge could believe enough to save themselves. "Yes. They will come."

_TBC_   



	33. Ensemble: Splitting The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luck, like so many other things, is finite. -- by incandescens

**ENSEMBLE: SPLITTING THE PARTY**

 

“You are quite certain this is the only approach?” Nanao whispered. It was difficult to break the feeling that they were in enemy territory – well, they _were_ in enemy territory – and the imperative to speak quietly.

Hisagi shrugged. “It’s the main approach. If there are other ones –“

“Yeah,” Grimmjow interrupted. “If he has got other doors in and out, he hasn’t told us about them.”

Lisa nodded. “I explored, but this was the only one I know about, and it was too risky to approach it openly.”

“I agree with everyone,” Hanatarou mumbled.

Inoue Orihime didn’t say anything. She gnawed on her knuckles thoughtfully, propped up against her brother. Nanao would have liked to give her more time to rest, but they simply couldn’t risk it. Pagally was quiet as well, hovering behind her master Hisagi, and Ayasegawa simply flipped his hair as though nothing was worth saying.

“Then we’ll do this as planned,” Nanao said. She turned to Ikkaku. “If you and Grimmjow – and Ayasegawa, perhaps – take the left corridor that leads to here, and Hisagi and everyone else take the right corridor, then you can all keep the watch while Inoue Orihime and Yadomaru-sempai and I try to get the lock open. That way there’s someone with each group who can claim local authority and try to smooth things over if you get any questions.”

“That’s not going to play if anyone actually notices that I _haven’t got a fucking hole any more_ ,” Grimmjow snarled.

Nanao glared at him.

“Nobody has so far,” Ikkaku said, with a smirk.

“I can handle it,” Ayasegawa said, finally deigning to speak. “I can say that Harribel –“ he visibly bit off the –sama – “that she went in to attack Aizen and told me not to let anyone else pass. That should stop people. And if it’s Ulquiorra, then you should hear me fighting him in time to run away.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Grimmjow said, cheering up. “I get first challenge, mind.”

“Which group do I go with?” Kurosaki Ichigo demanded.

“You stay with us,” Nanao said firmly. She noted the immediate upswing in Inoue Orihime’s mood, and decided it was worth ignoring the boy’s fretting for that alone. And there was, of course, the question of how long Inoue’s healing might last on him, and whether he might be prone to revert in moments of stress, or even if allowed to wander off on his own . . . yes, much better to keep him nearby. With an effort she modified her tone to one of polite request. “After all, if Aizen – or anyone else – walks out of his labs and right into us, we will need you on the spot there and then.”

Kurosaki thought it over. “All right,” he conceded. “Do you think it’ll take long?”

“I hope not,” Nanao said, with great sincerity.

Madarame was nodding, over to one side. She suspected that he was thinking along similar lines to hers. “That way there’s some good fighters with each group,” he said. “It’d be stupid to split ourselves up and risk the whole damn mission.”

Ayasegawa raised an eyebrow. “There was a time you wouldn’t have said that, Ikkaku.”

Madarame scowled, and his heavy-browed glare was furious enough that both Inoue siblings flinched, even if Ayasegawa only smiled at it. “Yeah, well. We all fucking change. Don’t we.”

“But sometimes it’s the best thing to do,” Kurosaki put in. His eyes were haunted, and he sounded more like someone trying to justify a past memory than someone seriously defending the position.

“Every situation is different,” Nanao said quickly, before they could get into _another_ argument. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

The group quickly split up. Yadomaru-sempai led the way down the corridor to the main laboratory door, as the two other groups retreated down their own passages.

“So what do you want me to do?” Inoue Orihime asked. Her voice was still shaky and tired. Her brother had his arm round her shoulder, partly steering her, partly supporting her.

“Yadomaru-sempai and I will take a look at the kidou locks first,” Nanao said. “Hopefully we can identify the crucial parts which actually cause a reaction. If you can block or undo them –“

“It’ll be like cutting the wire on an alarm so it can’t go off!” Kurosaki-kun said.

Nanao adjusted her glasses at him in a way that would have had most of the Eighth Division running for cover. “Yes,” she said frostily. “Along those lines.”

“Ooh,” Inoue Orihime said. “We’ll be like real carjackers.”

“’Fraid we can’t drive this one away,” Yadomaru-sempai said cheerfully. “It’s going to be a strictly up on jacks and take the wheels off, and then once we’re in it’s time to keep quiet and snatch the car stereo.”

Nanao looked at her. Meaningfully. Possibly a little plaintively.

“You never told me that the Vizards did _that_ ,” Kurosaki-kun said.

“That was more Hiyori-kun’s thing,” Yadomaru-sempai said reminiscently. “Shinji would just boost the whole car and then abandon it later.”

Kurosaki-kun looked somewhere between shocked and appalled. Perhaps it was just that simple things like robbery in the real world hit harder than death in a place like this, Nanao reflected. Maybe he was horrified by the illegal nature of Vizard activities. Perhaps they’d even sold the stolen cars on to Urahara Kisuke. It’d fit the man’s modus operandi.

“You never took me along,” he snivelled.

Nanao reconsidered her sympathy.

The door that they came to was large and white. It seemed to glow with a cold inner luminescence of its own, at the same time both inviting and warning, welcoming and threatening.

“Didn’t he have a skeleton hanging up here once?” Inoue Orihime asked. “Or was that just a rumour?”

“It was a rumour,” Kurosaki-kun said with authority. “Hollows don’t have skeletons, after all.”

Nanao ignored their babbling with the calm expertise she’d learned from years of having Kyouraku-taichou drivelling on in the background while she was trying to _concentrate_ on something. As she peered closer, she thought that she recognised some of the typical kidou-locks that would have been used in Soul Society. It made sense, after all: Aizen wouldn’t expect any of the Hollows here to know about what was commonplace _there_. But she wasn’t going to be careless.

The situation was improved, for some small value of improvement, by the fact that there were only so many ways to use kidou to lock a door. Unless Aizen had come up with some completely new way of using existing techniques and modulations of energy – which he did not _seem_ to have done – all that he could actually do would be to pile magical lock on top of magical lock, or somehow interlock them so that an unauthorised intruder would trigger a cascade reaction if he or she tried to open one without taking account of the others.

He seemed to have done both.

Nanao metaphorically cracked her fingers together. From what she’d seen of the Hollows and the Espada, brute force and unpleasant powers were well within their scope, but actual small-scale kidou-breaking wasn’t something that they specialised in. The scientist of the Espada was probably an exception, as was Kurotsuchi Mayuri, but the simplest way around _that_ for Aizen would have been to include a particular lock-point (a part of the ignition, to borrow the car theft metaphor) which required his personal presence, or some sort of recognised token, if he had wanted to allow Gin or Tousen or even Hisagi to enter.

So, logically, if she could find that part of the kidou structure, and help Inoue Orihime to recognise it and temporarily negate it, then she should be able to unpick the rest of it enough to allow them through, and have it reset and snap shut behind them.

Good. She had a plan.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear fighting, and for a moment she considered investigating. But that was why they’d split up, after all, so that each team could handle a different part of the job. She had to trust the other group to do their part. And she had to trust Yadomaru-sempai to keep an eye on Kurosaki-kun. And she had to trust herself to trust them.

She imagined a familiar generous presence at her back, just for a moment, just for the comfort of it, before bending her attention closer to the locks.

\---

 

Shuuhei wasn't happy with the group he'd been assigned, but he also wasn't in any position to protest being saddled with them. Besides, what could he say even if he was? That they reminded him of everything he had--and hadn't--done?

 _Yeah, you're better off not saying anything,_ Kazeshini said. _Just remember--I got us._

In terms of reliability, Hoshibana was his safest bet. Shuuhei didn't know him, but he certainly knew _of_ him. Hoshibana had been the Sixth's third seat nearly twice as long as Kuchiki Byakuya had been captain, after all. He might be open in his distrust, but he was a capable shinigami and not likely to let personal agendas get in the way of the mission.

Hanatarou was probably trustworthy, but he was unarmed and probably knew little offensive kidou. Then there was the matter of that collar. Hanatarou had less of a chance than any of them of making through a battle alive.

He really wished Ogidou had been assigned to go with Ikkaku. No doubt Ogidou wished the same. Nothing was said, but Shuuhei was aware of Ogidou's watchfulness the way he would be aware of a knife point between his shoulderblades.

As for Pagally, he had no good reason to rely on her. She was a Hollow, after all. Besides, given what he knew about her, she was likely to either freeze or bolt if things got rough. He also wished she would stop sniffling.

With any luck, all that would happen was they would have a dull hour while Ise's group worked on the locks. Still, Shuuhei couldn't help but think that they had burned too much luck already. The fights against Harribel and Kurosaki had gone almost too well, with generous victories and no casualties.

"Madarame's group headed back the way we came," Hoshibana pointed out once they left the others. "We know what's back there, but what's in this direction?"

The hallway had just broadened just enough at this point for them to fight two abreast if need be--that meant two lines of defense for something or someone to try to break through while Pagally ran back to alert Ise and Yadomaru. Futher along, however, the hallway began to curve to the left. It seemed as if the curve was close by, but the angles of the walls and ceiling kept shifting and skewing, destroying any reliable perspective cues.

"Kurotsuchi's and Szayel's laboratories," Shuuhei said, even though the question had been directed more to Hanatarou than to him. "We're not going to want to go too far down this way, although..."

"Although it may be that Kurotsuchi's betrayal will turn out to be another misunderstanding, and we should seek his help," Ogidou offered up helpfully, voice silky smooth in a way that had Kazeshini snarling. "Perhaps he only maimed Ukitake-taichou in order to maintain cover."

Pagally took a step towards him, but Shuuhei took hold of her shoulder and shook his head, telling her to leave it be. Ogidou was obviously trying to provoke him, and the best thing to do was ignore it.

Kazeshini disagreed.

"An amusing suggestion, but perhaps not, ah... one we should follow up on?" Hoshibana said, one eyebrow raised. He sounded very relaxed about the whole thing, but Ogidou went red and quiet as if Hoshibana had got into his face and yelled at him to stand down.

Hanatarou looked at Shuuhei as if wanting to ask if he was all right while Hoshibana looked at him as if waiting to see what he would do next.

Against all expectation, Shuuhei remained calm. Calm, but he couldn't help tossing a little bit of nastiness back Ogidou's way. "Based on his continued experimentation on other members of your squad, Ogidou-hachiseki, I think Hoshibana-sanseki has the right of it." He made sure to emphasize their respective ranks.

Ogidou said nothing, but in that silence, Shuuhei heard a dozen questions about why he had let things go on as he had.

 _You're the one who brought it up, pal,_ Kazeshini said. _Are you_ trying _to be a fucking martyr? You get your rocks off on that kind of thing, or something? Anyhow--_

"It's too quiet," Shuuhei said at the same time as Kazeshini.

"Pardon?" Hoshibana had maneuvered himself between Ogidou and Shuuhei, and it wasn't clear who he was shielding from whom.

"He's right." Hanatarou looked nervously over his shoulder, down the hallway which curved into dimness and too-yellow light. "It's usually noiser around here."

"I see." Hoshibana looked down the tunnel, grim-faced. "How much further do you suggest we venture?" He addressed Shuuhei directly this time, but he very pointedly did not use any form of address where the presence or absence of honorific would be noticed.

"About twenty yards or so past that curve up ahead. There's some doorways up there--Kurotsuchi's labs. Szayel's are further down," Shuuhei said.

"He's right," Hanatarou confirmed. "I've been..." He cleared his throat. "I've been in there a few times. For... um, cleanup. And yes, it's usually noisier. Much noisier."

Ogidou looked stricken, but Hanatarou seemed reluctant to accept any sympathy from him.

Pagally, on the other hand, was pressing close to Shuuhei. "I don't _like_ the labs." She tugged on her mask as if trying to get it to cover more of her face. "All those creepy, creepy shinigami women. They're not _right_."

"Experiments?" Ogidou demanded.

Hanatarou shook his head. "Worse."

 _About time you two dumbfucks realized you left out an important detail,_ Kazeshini said.

"Kurotsuchi Nemu," Hisagi said. "There's more than one of them, now. I'm not sure how many, but there's usually a couple kicking around the labs. She--they--aren't the same as the one we knew back home."

Of course, none of them were the same people they knew back home, but that was a different story.

"Yamada, you and Ogidou take point," Shuuhei said. "Healers aren't exactly an unusual sight around here. You could buy us some time, maybe even talk us out of a situation if we run into someone who starts asking question."

Ogidou looked like he was going to protest, but Hanatarou shook his head. Before Shuuhei could say anything, Hoshibana spoke up.

"In that case, I'd best take rear, hm? Of the lot of us, I'm the one who stands out most as not belonging.

 _Sounds like a plan_ , Kazeshini said.

"Sounds like a plan," Shuuhei echoed, but he did not echo Kazeshini's comment about who was or was not likely to stab him in the back. "Let's go. And remember, halt before we actually get to the lab entrances. If anything comes out at us, I want it to be in front of us, not maybe surrounding us."

Hoshibana nodded his approval, and for once didn't seem to be quietly questioning him. Ogidou scowled, but headed off down the hallway all the same.

"I don't like him," Pagally whispered. "The other shinigami didn't look like they wanted to kill me. He does."

"You don't need to worry," Shuuhei told her. He wished she hadn't said that just as Hanatarou was passing, and he _really_ wished Hanatarou hadn't given him a meaningful, anxious look as he did.

They walked up towards the curve to wait. Pagally's heels clacked unnervingly loudly even though she was trying to walk quietly. Just before rounding the curve, Hanatarou held up a hand behind his back, signaling them to wait. Then, hand still behind his back, he waved frantically at Shuuhei, as if telling him to get up there already. Shuuhei looked over his shoulder and gave a sharp nod. Hoshibana nodded and faded back, dropping into ready position.

Shuuhei walked forward, Pagally clacking along behind him.

"We did not request a healer's presence," he heard Kurotsuchi Nemu say from just out of sight. "Nor are there any experiments to be run while Mayuri-sama is away."

 _Fuck. I think there's two of 'em,_ Kazeshini said.

Shuuhei thought the zanpakutou was right. Also, what was that about Mayuri being away? He took a deep breath and prepared what he hoped was a likely story.

_Right. Like they'll just go along and not say a peep to anyone._

He told Kazeshini to shut up.

"They're with me," he said as he drew near to the group. As it turned out, Kazeshini was wrong about there being two Nemus. There were three. "Aizen-sama did not inform me that Kurotsuchi was leaving Las Noches. I don't suppose one of you three could tell me when he'll be back."

He hoped Hoshibana heard that last part and knew what it meant. Hanatarou was shaking and trying not to. Ogidou simply examined the Nemu trio with clinical curiosity.

As for the Nemus, they looked at each other as if having a silent conversation. They probably were. He could practically hear the whirring.

The Nemus turned to back to the group in unison, but only one of them spoke. "Mayuri-sama went to investigate an anomaly. He did not say when he would be back."

Hanatarou looked back at him pleadingly. It wasn't the first time Shuuhei had received that kind of look here, but it was the first time in a long time he felt he could actually help.

"Kurotsuchi not being here is a problem," he informed the Nemus. That was not a lie. The only question was how to get word to Ise about this. Kurotsuchi not being here should theoretically give them an advantage, but some instinct told him it did not.

 _Me, I'm wondering where the fuck he's gone if he's not_ here.

Inspiration struck. It was a gamble, but so was this whole venture. So far, he'd done nothing but tell the truth to the Nemus, so he'd just continue that mad couse of action as long as he could. "Pagally, please go inform Yadomaru Lisa that Kurotsuchi Mayuri is not where we were told he would be. She may need to adjust her plans for the day."

Instead of leaving, Pagally clung tighter, staring at the Nemus and shivering. One of them looked down at her consideringly. Another looked carefully at Shuuhei, frowning down at Kazeshini by his side in a way that made him very aware of his hand on the scabbard, thumb poised to release the blade.

The third was _very_ interested in Ogidou, rising up on tip-toe then stooping down to look him over so closely she appeared to be smelling him. Ogidou smiled as winningly as he could, but Shuuhei could see that he'd gone pale and clammy.

Then, she took a step back. She stood ramrod straight, and her eyes were level with the base of Ogidou's throat.

"This one does not have a collar," she stated. "And he wears a sword. That is not permitted."

The Nemu studying Shuuhei turned sharply to study Ogidou. "He is not on our approved list of prisoners."

Shuuhei tried to think of how to explain their way out of this, but he couldn't think with Kazeshini shouting out his own suggestions. It was only a second's hesitation, but it was long enough for Ogidou to lunge at the Nemu closest to him, hands crackling with kidou as they closed around her throat.

The third Nemu opened her mouth. Her expression did not change even as her sister-self convulsed once and went still, but a high-pitched noise came out. It wasn't a scream. It grew steadily louder.

"Damn it! She's sounded the alarm! Pagally, _run_!"

Hoshibana charged around the corner. He blocked Pagally and shoved her back towards the group. "They'll hear the fighting well enough! If you can fight, young lady, stay here and _fight_!"

 _Good call,_ Kazeshini said. Shuuhei repeated the opinion, even if he didn't agree with it.

Ogidou was already in the thick of the fight, yelling for Shuuhei and Hanatarou to help him already. A door further up the hallway slid open and five more Nemus came running out.

Hoshibana removed one of the Nemu's heads with a clean stroke. Hanatarou was doing what he could with kidou, but most of that was defense.

Shuuhei hadn't even drawn his sword. He couldn't. Kurotsuchi Nemu had been a colleague.

_Not any more she isn't, asshole!_

Three more Nemus came from up the hall to replace the three Hoshibana and Ogidou had cut down. One of them literally pinned Ogidou to the corridor wall, arm shooting out to a grotesque length so that her hand pierced his shoulder.

From behind him, he heard a shaky, frightened cry of " _Fly, Cernicalo!_ " and then a bird-like Hollow shot past him and darted between two of the Nemus almost faster than he could see. Pagally's wings appeared soft and fragile, but the Nemus were sliced open in dozens of places where those wings had brushed. It only slowed them down, though, and one of them leapt for him even though her forearm was only attached by a flap of skin.

He drew his sword and at once felt blood on his hand, dead weight slumping against him, but all he had done was evade the attack.

There was what sounded like an electrical jolt and he heard Pagally scream and then go quiet. Hoshibana was fighting off four Nemus. Hanatarou was on the ground, not moving.

_Kill her! Kill her! She's not Iemura! Oh, fuck this..._

Shuuhei ran forward, Kazeshini whipping out of its sheath and falling into its two parts with the release command. It all seemed very far away, even though he felt himself send one of the blades clattered out lightning fast straight towards the Nemu that was killing Ogidou. It would cut her in half if he didn't stop it in time.

_No worries, pal._

Shuuhei didn't see the blade strike. He didn't see anything. Feel anything. Or hear anything in the darkness, except for three words that were whispered closer than he ever thought possible:

_I got us._

\---

The distant thumps and yells were sweetly familiar. A fight. A good one from the sound of it. Ikkaku gripped Hoozukimaru tight and looked down his assigned hallway at a fat lot of nothing.

"Do you hear that?" Yumichika asked. From the sound of it, he knew damn well that Ikkaku _did_ hear the fight.

"I ain't deaf."

"Ah." Yumichika continued to stare down at the same batch of nothing Ikkaku was staring at. Ikkaku could _hear_ the grin. "So why aren't you running towards it?"

Pounding footsteps that faded off real fast told him that Boy Blue had already taken off. No big loss.

Ikkaku glared at his friend. Yumichika still looked creepy as fuck in that white getup of his, but the smirk was familiar enough.

"Ah, ah, ahhh.... Before you ask me why _I'm_ not running off--I asked you first, Ikkaku."

"Fuck, you know I hate it when you do that." There was now a _lot_ of yelling from down the corridor. Then, a scream. "It ain't like I don't want to."

He did. Dammit, he did. But he wouldn't.

"Not gonna fuck up again like I did at the pillar," he muttered. Yumichika knew what he meant.

"I see."

They were silent again for a while, facing down that big, deadly, scary nothing-at-all that was coming at them.

"So, why ain't _you_ running to fight, you pansy?"

Yumichika shrugged. "Well, you saw what happened the _last_ time I ran off to a fight and left you behind," he said easily enough.

Ikkaku thought about that for a moment, then nodded.

"Fair enough, I guess."

Then, after a few more minutes:

"Fuck, I'm bored."

At least the company was good.

\---

Hanatarou hit the ground hard. A flare of pain so intense it was cold said he'd either broken or sprained his wrist.

How many more of the Nemus were there? Hanatarou had seen as many as three dozen of them, but only eleven had come out to fight them. The others couldn't be far behind.

There was no way they could win, but still, Hanatarou needed to get up, needed to help. He got to his feet. That was the first step. The second step--he didn't know. There was too much that needed to be done.

Ogidou was about to be stabbed through the throat, Hoshibana had killed two of the enemy but was now losing ground to two more, the little Hollow girl was down and moaning quietly, and Hisagi-fukutaichou...

Hisagi-fukutaichou was just standing there, watching openmouthed. His zanpakutou was halfway out of its scabbard, and his eyes were wide. He sidestepped an attack, but otherwise, didn't appear to be aware of anything other than an invisible something that had his eyes wide with terror.

Before Hanatarou could shout at him and beg him to come to his senses, everything changed. The slack mouth sharpened to a grin. His eyes narrowed. Then, with a mocking command of _Reap_ , Hisagi-fukutaichou released his shikai and cut two of the Nemus in half with one lazy strike.

Ogidou-san slumped to the floor, and Hanatarou finally had something to do. He only had the one hand to work with, but with Ogidou conscious enough to brace his own shoulder, Hanatarou was able to pull the arm piercing it free.

He tossed it aside and tried not to think too much about what it all meant. He had a patient to treat and right now that was all that mattered.

"I'll do yours if you do mine," Ogidou panted. He was smiling, but his eyes were unfocused with pain. "Just a fast patch, though. Gotta stuff I need to do."

Hanatarou nodded, and did a simple kidou that would stop the bleeding and would restore a degree of mobility. Ogidou would be able to use the shoulder without much pain, but it would inflict more damage.

"Thanks." Ogidou grabbed Hanatarou's wrist, and after a flash of pain that had him seeing white, the wrist stopped hurting. In fact, Hanatarou couldn't feel a thing below his elbow.

"Thank you?" he said quietly, but Ogidou was gone, shoving his way into the fight alongside Hoshibana. Only two more Nemus had come running, and now there were six. Five--Hisagi-fukutaichou cut down another one. He was still grinning.

Hanatarou was no good in this kind of fight. He could help the most by getting Hisagi-fukutaichou's Hollow-servant back into the fight. Her wings had vanished, and she was curled in on herself, shivering or maybe convulsing from the electric shock. She flinched away from him when he knelt down beside her. He would have to trust the others to keep the fight away from him while he worked.

"Shh... shh... it's okay. I'm here to help you."

Funny, but he was almost never scared when he was working on someone who was badly hurt. There just wasn't room for scared when someone needed him.

The little Hollow rolled her unmasked eye to look at him. She was terrified.

"Here. Let me see that burn."

He heard a wet double-thunk as Hisagi-fukutaichou took down another Nemu. Four. Then, the sound of a sword being pulled free from a body, and a single, heavier thump. Three.

Hanatarou held the little Hollow as firmly as he could and examined the electrical burn on her arm and shoulder. With his good hand, he let a mild healing kidou flow into her skin. She _meeped_ in surprise, then scuttled away from him as fast as she could. She poked at her belly to see if it hurt, and when it didn't, glared at him as if he had just done something to trick her.

"This one wears a collar."

Hanatarou tried to turn around, but only ended up moving from his knees to his butt. He caught himself with his bad hand and felt something inside shift. The lack of pain made it worse.

A Nemu stood over him. "Remote collar access override," she said calmly. "Five-three-delta-four-epsilon-seven-theta..."

The numbers rattled out faster than he could follow. His hand went to his collar as if that could stop the blast. He'd known for months it would end like this, so why did it make him so angry when it finally did?

"...eight-zero-sigm... _ah!_ "

Her face went slack. _Everything_ went slack, shifting and sagging beneath the skin like liquid running out of a punctured bag. Blood streamed from her mouth, nose, and ears, and she collapsed wetly to the floor. Ogidou reached down to help him up. "That was close," he said cheerfully. "Good thing I was paying attention."

Hanatarou shook his head. He did not take Ogidou's hand, and he tried to keep his own from trembling. "I'll be fine," he said faintly. "Go. Just... go."

"Okay," Ogidou said. How could he be smiling? "Just a few more things to take care of, and we're done here, Yamada-san."

He sounded very pleased with himself.

The Nemu who had nearly exploded his collar lay where she had fallen. Blood and more than blood still oozed from her mouth, and her skin was loose over muscle. What had he just seen? He knew that kidou. He recognized that energy. It was meant to re-knit torn connective tissue, but just now it had been turned upside-down and inside-out.

What had they become? Was survival worth turning into _this_?

He could hardly even bring himself to feel sorry for what had happened to Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou anymore.

The fight went on, but not for long. Only two Nemus were left. One of them screamed their alarm cry, but no more of them came from the labs.

The other's arms split and spun apart into thousands of sparking wires that wove into a net running from floor to ceiling in front of her. The electric current was loud enough to hear even over her sister's scream. Hisagi-fukutaichou was poised to strike, but he held back. No matter how fast his kusarigami cut through that net, the shock would kill him.

Ogidou grabbed the screamer from behind. It seemed to be his favorite tactic. She went quiet at once, but it was probably Hoshibana's blade that killed her. Hoshibana was badly wounded himself, and fell along with the Nemu. Hanatarou rushed to his side, even as Ogidou ran to help Hisagi finish off the last Nemu and her barrier.

"I think they mean to protect the labs," Hoshibana said, talking over Hanatarou’s pleas for him to be still and quiet. "See how she's digging in to stand her ground?"

He was right. Hanatarou saw the lab door just behind the thickening barrier. Maybe Ogidou could use his kidou to deflect the electricity long enough for Hisagi-fukutaichou to cut through it.

Hanatarou shivered at the memory of the kidou demonstration he had just seen. Ogidou had acted as if the whole thing had been _fun_. The callousness Hanatarou remembered (and had disliked) had changed to something else, just as Hisagi-fukutaichou had turned into something else. Hisagi-fukutaichou looked like _he_ had enjoyed killing those Nemus, and now he stared at the electrified net with more hunger than frustration. Ogidou stood right behind him, just as hungry.

Hanatarou slapped himself hard--what was wrong with him? He needed to focus on the patient! But his gaze was fixed on the two men the way it would be on a poisonous snake poised to strike.

In the end, perhaps it was a good thing he could not stop watching. Perhaps it wasn't. Either way, Ogidou moved so quickly Hanatarou nearly missed it.

"Hisagi-fukutaichou! Behind you!"

His cry was almost too late. Hisagi-fukutaichou turned just as Ogidou's hands closed around his neck. Kazeshini's blade went right through Ogidou's spine, and Ogidou fell to the ground. He caught Hanatarou's eye just before he fell, and Hanatarou could never remember a look of such hatred directed at him before.

Hisagi-fukutaichou looked down at him and Hoshibana, narrow-eyed and half-amused. It was worse than Ogidou's hatred. The skin on his neck was raw and blistered where Ogidou had grabbed him, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Thanks for the warning," he drawled. "Now you--Hoshibana? Are you gonna pull a dumb stunt like that?"

Hoshibana coughed. Hanatarou was relieved to see there was no blood on his lips. "Please. If I had wanted you dead, I would have been _far_ more subtle about it. I am also hardly in a position to judge you over what you did to Iemura." He looked at Ogidou's body, and Hanatarou could not judge his expression. "I do wish it had not come to this," he said, and the words sounded as resigned as they did bitter.

"I'm sorry," Hanatarou said. If he had not said something, Ogidou would be alive and Hisagi would be dead. He wondered if Hoshibana wished it were the other way around.

"Don't blame yourself," Hoshibana said in a dismissive manner that ensured Hanatarou would never stop wondering if he could have done something differently.

"Okay, so how are we gonna take _her_ out?" Hisagi-fukutaichou asked as if none of this had just happened. He joggled his zanpakutou's chain impatiently, as if he might go ahead and throw the blades, electricity or no electricity. "Ah, hell. Here goes nothin'"

He whirled the blades over his head and released both at once. One clanged and sparked against the ceiling, pulling the other blade short. Hisagi lunged for his sword as if terrified to let it out of his hands for a more than a second, and barely stopped himself before the tip of one axeblade hit the net.

The net shorted out with explosive force, peppering them with fragments of white-hot wire. Hisagi-fukutaichou took off towards the labs.

A quick examination showed that Hoshibana had broken--not cracked—ribs. and a concussion. Hanatarou started the healing kidou, but Hoshibana pushed him away.

"Go after him. I am not about to murder him, but I am also not about to trust him. Go!"

Hanatarou nodded. He did pause for just a second to look at Ogidou, even though there was no hope; for that kind of wound, they would have needed Unohana-taichou. Still, he felt it was his duty to look. To _see_.

Ogidou was the rescue party's first loss, and that loss was in part Hanatarou's doing.

Hisagi-fukutaichou stopped short in the lab door, giving Hanatarou the seconds he needed to catch up.

"Is that _it_?" Hisagi demanded. "You mean that was _all_ of them? And where the hell are Szayel’s goons?"

"They'd be here if they thought there was a chance to go through Kurotsuchi's labs. Maybe they didn't hear?" Hanatarou knew that wasn't true the moment he said it. The two scientists were always, always spying on each other.

Hisagi went back out into the hallway. Pagally was helping Hoshibana to his feet. "We got another problem!" he yelled. "Wherever Kurotsuchi's gone, Szayel's followed or the other way 'round. If they've gone to Soul Society, we're screwed! Go tell Ise!" Then he ducked into the lab again. Hoshibana waved at Hanatarou to follow Hisagi.

The first thing he noticed was that the doors to the holding chambers were open and the cages inside were empty. The covered cage he had seen the other day was still there, but the cover was gone and the cage door was open. He saw what looked like a few feathers on the cage floor.

Hisagi was over at one of the cabinets, searching through the bottles and jars. He took out a pill vial, tipped the contents into his hand, then dry-swallowed them all at once.

"Hisagi-fukutaichou!" Hanatarou caught the vial as Hisagi tossed it over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure I stay awake," he rasped. "No, it ain't smart, but if I don't stay awake, things are gonna get _bad_."

"What... I don't understand?"

"Nothing _to_ understand, shorty." Hisagi was now pacing fitfully through the labs, checking every screen, every scrap of paper. "I know what I need to do to keep going, okay? Now we got to see if we can find out where the resident freakshow went."

Hanatarou nodded as Hisagi headed back to the innermost workrooms. "I'll gather some supplies for later." The labs were the closest thing they had to an infirmary. Unless Hisagi had swallowed the last of them, there should be some energy pills. He checked the bottle he had caught to see how they would be labeled.

Then he checked it again.

Did Hisagi-fukutaichou just swallow a handful of _sleeping pills_?

"Hisagi-fukutaichou! I think you may have--"

He was cut off by a gust of terrified swearing from back in the workroom. "Yamada! Get your ass in here! Now!"

Hanatarou dropped the pill vials and ran towards the noise. He'd never been back this far, and he'd always counted himself lucky in that regard. Workrooms opened off an L-shaped corridor, and it took him a moment to find the right one.

Hisagi-fukutaichou was standing over some sort of trough. The dim overhead lights reflected off something green in the trough, casting ripples of nauseating light over Hisagi's face.

"She's been fucking severed from her zanpakutou!" he said. He sounded like he was going to be sick.

"What? Who? And how can you tell?" Hanatarou hurried over to Hisagi's side. Who was it? One of the female medics? Kusajishi-fukutaichou? Had Unohana-taichou been recaptured?

"How can't you?" he said blankly. " _Look_ at her."

At first, all Hanatarou felt was disappointment. It was just another one of the Nemus, half-submerged in some sort of green gel. She was gaunt and most of her hair had fallen out. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Yamada-san? Hisagi-fukutaichou?" Her voice was thin and reedy. "Please, can you tell me where I am, and why... it's gone, oh, it's gone..."

"Yeah. I know."

Hisagi-fukutaichou reached down and rested a hand on her forehead, and Kurotsuchi Nemu--the real one--started crying softly.

\---  



	34. Karin: At Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Karakura, the Kurosaki sisters try to walk home from school, and find the going far more difficult than usual. -- by sophia_prester

**Karin: At Bay**

  


The late evening light slanted gold through the streets of Karakura as Yuzu and Karin began their walk home from school. Karin had stayed late for soccer practice while the sewing club kept Yuzu, and the feistier of the two twins had jogged over to Yuzu's school to pick her sister up for the walk home.

Ghosts, which had crowded the streets for days, still thronged deep. Their mist-cool forms made Karin shiver every time she touched them. Yuzu seemed oblivious, chattering away about her day at school, how she'd done in cooking, what she'd made in sewing, how well she'd done in calligraphy class, and how much her teacher had admired her copies of Buddhist scripture.

Still, Karin knew that Yuzu was usually quiet when she was comfortable; she only talked like this when she was trying to hide nervousness, fear, or disquiet.

Only a block away, when they crossed the first driveway, something crunched under their feet.

"What is that?" Yuzu hopped back in fright.

Karin bent and frowned as she picked up what she'd thought was a red pebble. "Beans. They're beans."

Yuzu blinked at the sidewalk before them, which was covered beans. "Why would they throw beans?"

Karin blinked quietly and murmured, " _Oni wa soto, fuku wa uchi!_ "

"Oh..." Yuzu said softly. "That's soon, isn't it? February third is the day to bash Oni... throw them out the door. Oni out, good luck in!" She mimed the ritual of tossing beans out a door.

Karin looked at the house, and saw the arc of beans scattered across the front lawn, walk, and yard. Lamps were lit in the windows, with real fire, candles behind paper, not electric cheats. A mirror hung on the front door, to reflect evil back on itself. Karin could see that the ghosts obeyed the strictures, staying away from threshold and lintel, seething in a mass at the bottom of the stairs.

Picking her way through the crowd, Karin sighed when they got to the far side, and a string of firecrackers went off. Startlingly loud, the ghosts surged away, like a wave rippling through a pond. Karin grunted as one fat ghost elbowed her in the side. "Watch it," she muttered, and the ghost looked at her in surprise.

She growled, ignored the feeling of the ghosts going through her, grabbed Yuzu and hustled her down the deserted street. The streets were completely deserted, and at the intersection stood a kitsune shrine and a travelers' shrine opposite. Karin had to go around the huge crowd of ghosts that thronged about the structures. Coming as close as she dared, she saw that the shrines were filled with offerings. The kitsune shine was piled with sake, flowers, and fried tofu, and the travelers' shrine held scattered coins, tiny gifts, and food. The ghosts crowded close, muttering softly to themselves. Karin wondered if they found comfort in the thoughts of those that had left things there.

Yuzu shrank away from the gathering, looking confused and forlorn. "It doesn't feel right to go that way. What do we do?"

"Go around," Karin said shortly. "Or..."

She frowned at a doorway off that same intersection. Paper strips were plastered all about the door, and the ghosts stayed well away from the entryway, even as they seethed and shifted everywhere else. "Do you have your homework from your calligraphy class?"

Yuzu nodded meekly before slipping out of her backpack and opening it. "Yes. Here it is."

"Give it here," Karin said, and Yuzu handed Karin a long strip of paper that fluttered in the breeze.

The ghosts retreated in a panic, pushing and shoving to get away from them. Karin breathed a sigh of relief, and wrapped the sutra about Yuzu's torso. Yuzu looked rather startled by that, but when Karin motioned her forward, she went forward and the packs of ghost parted before her silently.

Then Karin felt reality crack, and Hollow badness poured into her world, her town. It didn't just do it in one place, either. It did it in two. One was across town, in the general direction of Urahara's Shop. The second rent pouring hungry ghosts into Karakura opened half a block away: right on top of Karakura Middle School.

Karin's first thought was Run back and kick their heads in. Her second thought, on hearing Yuzu whimper when even her blunted spirit powers could feel the forces gathering, was Run home with her and protect her there.

Then all thoughts blew away when a large, familiar figure, dressed in black hakama and kimono, landed beside her with a thump that shook the ground, parting the flood of frightened, lost ghosts that streamed away from the middle school. Real, live teachers, the last remnants of students, and the overachievers of the day scrambled from the school as well.

"Daddy!!" cried Yuzu, running to fling herself at Kurosaki Isshin. The big man caught her effortlessly and tucked her under one big arm. Yuzu dangled there, completely comfortable, and asked, "Why are you dressed funny, Daddy? What's happening?"

Karin stood back, one eyebrow raised at seeing her Dad in the official robes of a shinigami, a zanpakutou over his shoulder and a rakish grin on his unshaven face. She'd never suspected this, and the implications behind his appearance floored her, as did the unmistakable reek of reiatsu, a whole lot of reiatsu, something she'd never associated with her stupid Dad in her whole life. He had power, a whole lot of it, and he'd hidden it from them all for their whole lives.

Even as surprised as Karin was, when Isshin lunged at her she saw the move, sidestepped and tripped him. Dad roared, falling on his face, but he managed to make Yuzu land on him instead of the other way around. No doubt about it, this man was still Karin's Dad.

"You're coming with me, young woman," Isshin growled. "I have to get you home, where it's safe."

"But what about them?" Karin tilted her head at the middle school. Someone started screaming, shrill and terrible, but it was even worse when the screaming stopped.

"They're collateral damage, I can't help it." Dad clipped the words short, but Karin saw him tremble in their wake. The revulsion at what he'd said made him look angry, but even though he was now shinigami she knew him, knew Ichigo, knew their family well enough to understand.

"I can," she said, chin going up.

Karin ran back toward the middle school, dodging with what will she had, as she felt more than saw or heard Dad coming after her to grab her as he'd grabbed Yuzu. The impact of Dad's head running into an embellished iron fence didn't bother Karin, and she only sprinted faster.

When Karin reentered the school grounds there were more screams, coming from the seventh year floors. She ran faster. Heavier footsteps followed hers, and when Dad drew his zanpakutou, she felt the rise in reiatsu all about her and the attention of all those things went from the hapless students to Dad.

That scared Karin. Scared her enough that she fumbled in her school bag, pulled out her soccer ball. When it came to her hand, suddenly all those Hollows started looking at _her_.

The Hollows that thronged through the playing fields and in the hallways weren't quite right. Sure, all Hollows missed something to begin with, but all of these seemed to be missing more than just their hearts. Some moved, every limb in synch like they had one controller, others had tiny bug-like spirits crawling all over them, others had metal helmets on top of their masks of bone. A few looked like they'd been taken apart and put back together a lot less carefully.

They looked like they were all in pain, and they were doing their best to make the few remaining teachers and students feel their pain. Frowning, Karin dropped her ball, let it bounce once, and then with all her intent she kicked it right at the head of one of the limping Hollows.

White dust flew everywhere, and the thing nearly exploded. Karin kicked another into pieces, and then another on the rebound. Dad stood behind her and the blizzard of dust blew about them in a cloud that blinded.

But there were still more. More flooding into the courtyard as if driven there, and fighting them was like fighting the tide. For long minutes, Karin tried. She kicked and kicked and kicked, and the sword whistled behind her, but there were so many that their sheer numbers pushed Karin and her Dad toward the school entrance.

Her Dad's huge hand wrapped about her upper arm. "Karin, we have to get out of here: we'll be trapped inside the school walls if we stay."

Tears flowed from Karin's eyes, and dripped from her chin, as she realized they had no chance at getting into the school, even with the help of a high-powered shinigami. Karin refused to acknowledge the tears, refused to wipe them from her face, instead she snorted, "Dad, it's really weird to think of you as a shinigami."

"It's also pretty weird having you know, Karin-chan," Dad replied, setting his jaw.

"All right, Dad, let's get out of here."

"Right."

Together, they fought their way out, cut through the swath of white like a shadow through sunlight, and when they reached the outside Yuzu looked up from where she was surrounded.

Ichigo's classmates, Keigo, Mizuiro, and Tatsuki, frowned at them from where they stood about a sutra-wrapped Yuzu. The ghosts stayed at bay. Tatsuki ran forward and scooped Karin into a hug. "You all right?"

"Y... yeah... I think so."

"Eek!" Keigo screeched, as Hollows started pouring from the entrance of the Middle School. "What are those?"

"You can see them?" Dad frowned.

"Of course we can." Mizuiro's cool tone matched the steady hand that pushed up his glasses. "They're everywhere. What can we do?"

"You can hear and see me, too," Dad sounded resigned, and shrugged his black-clad shoulders. "All right, then, do you have anything to defend yourselves with?"

Keigo's arms trembled as he brought up a bamboo bokken. "Uhm... maybe?" He swiped at one of the Hollows, but it dodged easily and laid a claw against Keigo's shoulder. Red lines appeared as the boy yelped and jumped back. "Agh!"

"Heeeyah!" Tatsuki's flying kick knocked the thing back, and Dad's flashing sword made short work of the staggering Hollow.

"Right. How about you?" Karin thought that her Dad's eyes should have bored a hole through Mizuiro, but the suited boy shrugged and pulled out, of all things a gun!

Dad yelped, the other kids fell back, and Karin's eyes went wide.

"How in _hell's_ name did you get..." Dad started.

Mizuiro leveled the weapon at a Hollow and pulled the trigger. Despite knowing that it was going to happen, Karin jumped in fright at the explosion. What was a kid doing with a gun? They were highly illegal for anyone in Japan, for a child to have one...

The Hollow blew away, but the spang-whine of a ricochet made Karin jump again. Empty sockets turned toward the group, and several dozen started making their way toward them even as the rest made their way with single-minded intent down the street.

"Where are they going?" Dad sounded worried.

"Well, some of them are coming for us," Mizuiro said, frowning.

Indeed. Claws and teeth reached for the small band about Yuzu, but Karin's soccer ball, Tatsuki's hands, and Mizuiro's bullets took care of them. That was when Karin noticed that Dad hung back, watching all around them for more groups of attackers. None came, and she saw him visibly relax.

When they were completely clear, Dad put his hands on his hips and looked at Karin and Yuzu. "I have to take all of you home."

"No way!" Karin's objection was nearly a reflex.

Keigo's knees knocked together, but he said, "Shouldn't we do _something_ about all of these Hollows? At least warn someone or tell someone that this is happening?"

Tatsuki frowned. "And I'm wondering where they're all going. Why are they all headed in the same direction?"

"And isn't that in the direction of your house anyway?" Mizuiro frowned. "You'd have to get through a sea of those things to get home anyway."

"Details, details." Dad waved his hands.

Karin gave a snort.

Yuzu, however, leaned against Dad and blinked eyelashes up at him. "Daddy, if we have to go through them anyway, why don't we follow them and see where they're going? Then we can call Mr. Urahara to tell him where they're going and what they're doing, right?"

"Uhm..." Dad blinked besottedly at Yuzu, and Karin rolled her eyes. But Yuzu was getting them where they wanted to go. Karin sighed, rolled her shoulders, and then hit up Dad on the other side.

"Right. Hey, Dad, you're going to get us home safe, so why not take a look anyway?" She tried batting eyelashes as well.

"Awww... how can I refuse my beautiful girls anything?!" Dad cried, scooped them both up and started running toward home.

Isshin had to duck and dodge quite a few of the hungry ghosts, delaying Dad just enough so that Ichigo's classmates could just barely kept up with them. As they went, Karin looked around Dad's arm and saw that the whole neighborhood was deserted. People left out mirrors and offerings, and there were far more of those blessing-sealed doors, as if they'd sensed what was going on and were desperate to keep the ghosts out.

The Hollows streamed through the empty streets like water down drains, twisting and turning as they did.

Until they didn't. The street toward home suddenly loomed completely clear. Dad gave a shout of joy and started to speed up, but Karin began wiggling as hard as she could. She kicked Dad in the knees and pulled at the thumb of the hand wrapped about her as hard as she could, until Dad gave a growl and dropped her.

"We have to see where they're going, Dad!" she shouted, and started running in the direction of the ghosts.

The Hollows ignored her, heading steadily on their course.

The teenagers, Ichigo's nakama, came on steadily behind her, and her father called out plaintively, "Karin! Come back!"

The flowing river of white on white, deadly and pale, turned again. Karin stopped as they saw them flowing into and filling the parking lot before they headed into the shining glass and steel building of Karakura Hospital.

"Oh, Gods of Man and Pain," Dad groaned as he caught up, with Yuzu still under his arm. "They're attacking the hospital."

Light exploded from the top floor, and dust and ghost screams floated down in a flurry. A figure clad in a gray suit and tie hovered in the air over the parking lot and a thousand arrows of light rained down on the advancing mass of Hollows. They all burst into dust, but still the tide of lost, dead humanity flowed, lapped at the feet of the hospital, and the shining building began to crumble.

For an instant Karin squinted at the figure. "Uryuu?" she whispered, wondering if her brother's friend had come back, which might mean hope for Ichigo as well.

Dad squared his shoulders, shook his head, and sighed. "No. That's Ryuuken. I'd know that technique anywhere."

Karin stared at her father and then back out at that silent figure raining destruction on the oncoming horde. "That's Uryuu's father? The Director of the Hospital?"

"He's protecting what's his. I can't blame him." Dad's voice was rough.

"We have to help."

Dark eyes turned to Karin.

"We can this time, Dad. Really. With him and you and everyone here, we can save the people in there. They're helpless, Dad. Most of the teachers and students got out of the school, but these people can't even run! We have to do something!"

The hesitation was palpable. Then all of Ichigo's friends turned toward the building, attacking as they could: even Keigo, who trembled with every swing, set his chin and moved into the fray to protect Tatsuki and Mizuiro's backs. They moved forward and were swallowed by the crowd.

Yuzu squirmed in the hold Dad had on her, and when she couldn't work herself free she said, "Daddy! We have to help. It's the only way. Besides you can't hold me and use your sword at the same time."

Sighing, Isshin let Yuzu go. He frowned at Karin and Yuzu. "You'll take care of your sister, right, Karin? Keep her close to you all the time."

"Right, Dad."

Sighing, Dad waded out into the stream of Hollows. When he was in the midst of them, power ballooned from him, far more than Karin had sensed at the school or outside it: Dad had been holding back.

An immense stream of blue light flashed into existance from where he stood, fraying all the bone-masked ghosts into dust and tatters. He then did it, again and again. Each one made Karin's teeth stand on edge, but they blew huge holes in the massed ranks.

She watched, fascinated and bewildered. This was her father, the loving buffoon and idiot of their family, who'd laughed loud and long at everything, but here he was, jaw set, eyes intent, and turning hundreds of Hollows to dust.

A slender finger tapped Karin shoulder.

"Karin-chan! Karin-chan! Hey, sis! What's that?" Yuzu fluttered a hand at the skyline of Karakura. "There!"

A hauntingly familiar orange-haired figure leaped impossibly from rooftop to rooftop, coming straight at them.

"Is that Ichigo?!" Yuzu cried.

Karin was about to answer, when Yuzu started to wail.

A seething flow of white followed that bounding figure, and even from that far away, Karin could sense that those were Hollows following him. Hollows whose numbers rivaled those that had flowed from Karakura Middle School.

They were all following him, and he was headed straight for them.

_TBC_


	35. Ensemble: Retaking Seireitei, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soi Fong and Kuukaku lead two different teams into Seireitei to retake the city. -- by incandescens and liralenli

**ENSEMBLE: RETAKING SEIREITEI PART 2**

  


Soi Fong didn't wait for the celebratory fireworks to finish exploding before she went to find Jidanbou. She frowned, watching one of the medics dress a slash in his shin. The little man ran around the tree trunk thick limb repeatedly. On seeing Soi Fong, Jidanbou got up only to drop to one knee before her, ignoring the impassioned pleading of his medic.

"How may I serve you, Captain?"

"I need you to be in charge of all four Gates and the crews I will leave you to hold them."

The giant frowned at her. "You sure, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes." Soi Fong spoke decisively to encourage both of them as to the merits of her plan. "You know the Gates and are man enough to handle the roughnecks I'll be giving you."

"But I was relieved of my duties." Jidanbou sounded plaintive, nearly sullen.

"By those who didn't have the good of Serientei at the forefront of their hearts," Sasakibe asserted quickly, and Soi Fong grinned at his tone of a lord conveying dispensation. It was good to have allies who knew what they were doing. Jidanbou smiled at the implied compliment, chest expanding.

"And you're the only one that can lift them when the time comes," Soi Fong added more practically. "You have to be by them when the messengers come and go. I need to know that our communications will come through and theirs will be stopped by the gates themselves."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. You're excused, then."

After the gates were settled, Kuchiki Ginrei, trailed by half a dozen of the other Clan leaders, approached their small group. Soi Fong wondered how much it rankled for the Lords to come to a commoner like her; to Ginrei's credit, however, none of that showed on his face or his power, and he gave Soi Fong a gracious bow.

It was another of the nobles that pushed his way to the front before Ginrei could even say a word.

"You must rescue our loved ones," Kasumoiji Kouki demanded. "They've kidnapped them and held them in the Tower of Penitence."

Soi Fong looked around, as there was nodding and a low rumble all about her.

"With the Sekkiseki Stone throughout the buildings, we cannot do that job," Kuchiki murmured. "And while we would like to go with you..."

High-reiatsu nobles on Sekkiseki stone would be worse than useless. They would be a liability. That was what the Tower was made to do, and Soi Fong had seen far too many noble prisoners brought to their knees, confessing everything they'd done, simply by stepping onto the gray surface. Being denied the powers they relied on, the capabilities that all their nobility was based on did things to mind and soul that were far worse than just losing a few power blasts or a shining blade.

Much to Soi Fong's relief, Sasakibe stepped up to face the beautifully dressed crowd. "No. I will need to you help me take control of the Barracks. There are a great number of lower ranking Shinigami who would be very glad of good leadership again. I need all who have ties with the misled ranks."

They agreed, and so Sasakibe and the nobles, in all their public finery, paraded off to the Barracks. Soi Fong couldn't help but grieve over fact that Yoruichi-sama was still stuck in the living world. Her Lady would have been both striking and efficient in the takeover. In Yoruichi-sama's honor, however, she sent Kage with Sasakibe and the nobles to make sure that everyone there would be safe when they were done. Kage would know what to do with traitors that tried to hide among the sheep.

Kuukaku decided to clean out the Palace and all the grounds along the way. On being informed of that decision, Soi Fong asked her to just take everyone other than the former members of Soi Fong's command. Graciously, Kuukaku did just that, and Soi Fong was free to do her job as she saw fit.

With the remnants of the Onmitsukidou loping and leaping across the roofs ahead of her, Soi Fong padded through the maze of walls and passages, toward the looming presence of the Tower of Penitence. The finger of shadow from the long tower made her frown. There were many traps about the Tower for the ignorant, and conflict within the stone walls would be different than a fight on fairer ground.

The canals all ended before they reached the Walls to the Tower, so with proper precaution, Soi Fong's team slipped into the underground passages.

Dank and dark, the cold stone pressed against them, and much of the network was neglected. A few of the walls had fallen in, but this was their bailiwick, and the center of their responsibilities, so they knew their way around the ruined areas. The five Units of the Onmitsukidou were Executive Militia, the Patrol Corps, the Detention Unit, the Reversal Counter Force, and the Infiltration Unit, each safeguarding the internal integrity of the Gotei 13. Much good it had done them with Aizen's betrayal.

Soi Fong frowned as the pang of old wounds gnawed at her heart.

"Kawate, I need to talk with you." The old head of the Detention Unit moved up to keep pace with Soi Fong. "What do you know of the present contents of the Tower?"

The elderly woman bowed her head. "It is as the noble ones said, Captain. There are many helpless spouses and children within the cells, along with many who are too powerful and dangerous to be kept anywhere other than on the draining stone."

"And the standing orders?"

"Kill them rather than allow them to escape." The cold words fell like pebbles on ice. Soi Fong nodded. This was as it should be for the Onmitsukidou. As heartless and bloodless as the stone itself.

"Then we will kill their captors quickly and silently."

The low murmur of agreement spread through like ripples through a pond.

"They have pole arms, reiatsu binders in all shapes and forms, and little kidou or reiatsu to affect. They've been chosen so that they are unaffected by the stone or by the nobles they've caught."

Soi Fong nodded. Of all her people, she would be the one most crippled, but she practiced on Sekkiseki stone on purpose, working on how to ignore the slow suck of her soul energies and not rely on the powers that could not work in that situation. Hand to hand combat was the Onmitsukidou's specialty for many reasons, but the most important was that one’s body and hands worked even when all else failed.

The irony of now only having one hand wasn't lost on Soi Fong. She smiled, and saw three of her people stumble in the rise of her reiatsu.

"We have to work fast," Kawate continued. "We know the location of all the alarms and intercoms through the Tower, and have to keep people from them. If they get word to the upper parts of the Tower before we reach them, they will destroy the true prizes."

"True prizes?"

"Objectors or troublemakers with power are kept in the top levels."

"Who?" Soi Fong asked, frowning.

"Some of the Division members that objected to what Gin was doing, like Akon and were upfront enough about to be captured. Some of the nobles that were foolish enough to shout in Gin's face. One or two that were caught trying to bring Gin down." The pinched look in Kawate's eyes made Soi Fong nod. So some of the Twelfth had stayed loyal to Soul Society. "They are bound and kept helpless so that they can be destroyed by their guards if there is any hint of a take over from below."

And that was the price of public loyalty. It made Soi Fong bite her lip. It was nearly worse than the betrayals to know of such straightforward loyalty. She brought herself back to the plan at hand. "Who knows the exact locations of the shout outs?"

"I do, and Hattori, Bando, and Itagaki have all worked the entry level security."

"Each of you take what people you need and intervene bodily at each of the sites."

"Hai, Captain." Groups formed quickly about those that knew what they needed to protect.

"Those who are not assigned to a specific communication location, come with me." Soi Fong smiled. "We're going to kill everyone that doesn't surrender to binding."

"Good, clean fun," murmured Sato. "I love straightforward orders, Ma'am."

"It's nice to be able to give them." Soi Fong showed teeth at the grim chuckles all around her. These were her people. "Let's go."

* * *

One good thing about being tall, Chad reflected, was that he was actually able to meet Shiba Kuukaku’s glare, eye to eye, rather than have her increase her glaring power by being able to stare down at him. She’d already been through a good selection of insults, and it was a pity that he wasn’t the sort of person to use that sort of language, because it had been very educational.

“You were supposed to be back at the mansion!” she snapped. “Which part of that did you not understand?”

Chad shifted his feet a little to brace himself. It had only been a few days, but he felt so much better that there weren’t words for it. Part of it might have been food, or the lack of probing scientific tests, or just the security of a quiet bed at night and a door that he could lock, but most of it was the knowledge of friends, and the possibility of hope. He could feel the strength in his arms again.

He wasn’t going to be left behind when his friends were going out to fight.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and didn’t bother going into details about why he was sorry, what he was sorry for, or how he’d managed to mingle with the second wave of shinigami coming in, and avoid Shiba Ganju or Shiba Kuukaku or Soi Fong-taichou or anyone else who might have recognised him. “Can I help?”

Shiba Kuukaku looked at him for a moment, beat out a few sparks smouldering on her shoulder, then snorted in irritation. “Well, at least you’ve got your priorities right. How recovered are you, boy?”

“Pretty well,” Chad said. He rolled his shoulders demonstratively. He was wearing a spare shinigami uniform, one that had been passed down from someone else, and it was too short in the sleeves; his wrists stood out bare, the muscles and bones firm and prominent. He could feel the power in his fists waiting to be used.

“Right.” She considered a moment longer, then gave him a nod of acceptance. “You’re with my group, then. We currently have control of the gatehouses. Soi Fong’s group is hitting the Tower of Penitence, Sasakibe’s is taking the main barracks and rallying support. We’re going to be clearing the main prison area and probably picking up some recruits there. Ichimaru put his ‘palace’” – her tone made it quite clear what she thought of anyone building such a thing, and Ichimaru Gin even more so – “right on top of it.” Her eyes darkened, and she shifted her weight a little in what might have been uncertainty in a less definite woman. “I have to warn you, Sado, it’s not going to be pleasant. Would you rather go with a different group? Ganju could use you –“

“I’ll be all right,” Chad said. He could have said, _I don’t think it will be any worse than what I saw in Hueco Mundo_ , but why hurt her feelings? Why, indeed, even bother saying that much?

He did his best to project the adult and manly air of one who would not be troubled by such things and therefore absolutely did not need to be handed off to Ganju or anyone else. He had – well, it wasn’t quite a hunch, but a feeling that he could be useful here. The mere fact that she hadn’t packed him off home on the spot for disobeying orders showed that she did need more troops.

She studied him, then jerked her right shoulder. “Stay behind me, but in front of the men. You can throw force blasts, right?”

Chad nodded.

“All right. You see someone coming at us, take them down. If they’re surrendering, they’ll put their weapons down first. If they’re still hanging onto their weapons, then we take them down first and apologise later if an apology’s needed. Keep an eye to the left and right. They’re likely to spring an ambush on us. Got that?”

Chad nodded again.

“Right,” Kuukaku said. She turned to her men, a mixture of Shiba servants and shinigami, some with bows slung across their backs, and singled out two older men. “Kaku, Eisaku, you two are watching Sado’s back. If he starts flagging, you’re in charge of getting him to safety.”

“I’m much better,” Chad began to protest, then bit his tongue and fell silent at the look she gave him.

“You’re better when I _say_ you’re better,” she snapped. “This is not going to be pretty, nor is it going to be easy going, and if I say that this pair is watching your back, the correct response is yes ma’am thank you ma’am. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chad said, eyeing the two men out of the corner of his eye. They looked like typical aged retainers. He could probably carry one under each arm if he needed to. “Thank you, ma’am.”

With a few brisk shouted commands, Kuukaku had the group moving out and on their way. True to her word, Chad had the position immediately behind her. It gave him a chance to look around at Seireitei without gawping too obviously.

The place was . . . he looked for words, and the one that came to mind first was _dirty_. Previously, even if it had been enemy territory, it had been clean. Bright. Alive. The towers had been white marble, the brick and slate of the smaller buildings had been crisp and clean. People had been living there, working there.

Now people were just _hiding_ there.

The main street they were advancing down was empty. It wasn’t the emptiness of the time before, the feeling of a street that was built for use but just didn’t happen to have anyone there at that precise moment. It was the emptiness of a street in an old cowboy movie – the only example he could think of, and he knew that it was a poor one, clichéd and inappropriate, but it was the best that he had. The emptiness of a place where people had run away and were watching from the windows, too afraid even to cheer for the people trying to save them.

 _Could any place be like this?_ he wondered. He wasn’t sure he’d like the answer if he tried to follow that thought to its logical end.

He kept a careful eye on the roofs to either side, but he didn’t manage to spot any snipers. This either meant that there weren’t any snipers, or that he couldn’t see any snipers. Maybe Soi Fong-taichou had already been through the area and dealt with all the snipers.

The road ahead to what looked like a big pair of prison gates (it was the big sign saying **Prison** that gave it away) was clear.

Chad waited for something to go wrong.

Kuukaku halted the group at a distance from the gates. Chad wasn’t sure how to measure it, but he suspected it was along the lines of “just out of kidou shot distance”.

“We can’t go over the walls,” she said briefly. “We’re going to go through the front gate. Noro, you’ve got the bombs. They go on the front gate with a two-second trigger, like we planned. Sado, you weren’t briefed on this, but what I want you to do is to keep the area above the gates clear. If anyone sticks their head up and tries to get out to move the explosives, you persuade them that’s a bad idea. Can you work from this range?”

Chad flexed his fingers and looked up at the walls. “I can’t bring the stone down,” he said slowly. “I think. But I can throw a blast that should knock down anyone who I see up there.”

“That’ll do,” Kuukaku said, looking happier than she had been. “See, boy, Ichimaru’s been fortifying the place so hard that a mouse couldn’t creep in through cracks in the walls. This is why we’re using the time-honoured method of taking a damn big hammer to the front door. Noro? You ready?”

“Yes, Shiba-sama,” one of the retainer-types said with a salute. He had a heavy backpack across his shoulders, with a quick-release strap on it. He reached into his jacket and pulled out something that looked like a cigarette lighter, only made of ivory and with carvings. He positioned it between his fingers, watching Kuukaku intently.

“Sado?” she asked.

Chad settled into stance, hands curled loosely into fists. He looked up at the prison walls. Someone flickered out of cover as he glanced down at them, then retreated again. “Fire at will, ma’am?”

“You got it,” Kuukaku said. “Noro, fire _now_.”

Noro snapped the ivory carving in his hand. Flame leaped from the end of it, blue and jumping like the burning brandy on a Christmas pudding. Chad noticed out of the corner of his eye that Noro was being very careful indeed to keep it away from his backpack.

Someone else came into sight, up on the wall and behind a crenellation. Chad saw the flicker of light on what might be the steel of an arrow or a sword. Without waiting to be told, he raised his right hand and threw a very basic blast at the figure. It didn’t properly connect – they ducked too fast for that – but it did force them back, and the wall tiles shivered under the impact.

Hm. Perhaps he _could_ do something useful.

“Noro!” Kuukaku snapped, and the man was away, dashing down the street with a shinigami’s speed to flatten himself against the gates. His hands were a blur as he pulled the strap on his backpack, dumping packets out and slapping them against the gate. They stuck there like lumps of chewing gum.

Behind him, Chad heard the twang of bowstrings. He threw another blast up at the tops of the walls, and arrows followed, swooping over in a whir of goosefeathers. There was something far more graceful about their flight than the brute force of his punch, and he felt obscurely saddened.

Noro swept the open flame in his hand across the uneven line of packets on the gate in a slow, controlled movement. They caught fire and blazed up, burning with the high controlled whiteness of magnesium. Noro turned, and sprinted down the street towards Kuukaku and Chad.

An arrow blurred down from the wall towards his back.

Chad threw a blast of force which broke it in half, and the pieces fell shivering to either side.

The explosives burned brighter – brighter –

_Should we be getting under cover?_

He looked out of the corner of his eye at Kuukaku. She wasn’t moving. She was standing there, watching the explosives ignite with a look on her face of pure delighted rage and glory.

_Well, she made the explosives, and presumably she’d be running away if we actually needed to take cover._

_Probably._

_I think._

He was conscious of an empty space behind him and the sound of feet running away as the retainers and shinigami got the hell under cover.

“ **Brazo Derecha de Gigante**!” Chad shouted. The shield came to him as though it had never been away, extending down to his right hand and along his forearm in a rush of red and black bone. He flung his arm up, pushing the shield in front of him and Kuukaku, and saw the light flare around its edges, fierce and merciless, an instant before the shockwave and the sound hit.

“Not bad,” Kuukaku said as the rumbling and crashes died away. “Of course, it would have been better if we’d had more time to position the charges, but I suppose this world is an imperfect place and full of disappointment.”

“But if anyone was hurt –“ Chad started to say.

Kuukaku snorted. “Anyone who was on the walls or defending the gate is fighting against us anyhow, Sado. And anyone who’s on our side and is in there is going to be safe in the cells. The problem’s going to be if they get them out to use them as hostages. Which is why we’re getting in there right now.” She surveyed the ruins of the gates. Behind them, the retainers and shinigami had come filtering back, dusting off the falling ashes and cinders. “Right. Everyone behind me. We’re going in.”

“Shiba-sama –“ one of the shinigami said tentatively.

Kuukaku ignored him. She strode down the road, ignoring fragments of masonry and the possibility of snipers with authoritative, aristocratic superiority. Chad quickly fell into pace a step behind her, glancing up at the roofs again. He wished they were moving faster.

“Don’t worry,” Kuukaku said out of the corner of her mouth. “I know what I’m doing. This is Rightful Authority Cleaning The Place Out, boy, which means that we can’t come sneaking round like Soi Fong’s people. We go in through the front door and act like we’re expecting them to be on their knees apologising for not having the place clean and tidy. Sasakibe’s doing the same thing over at the barracks, except he’ll have sent in a few of Second Division to lock down the troublemakers first. If people see you’re in control, they’ll act like you are in control, and then you are in control.”

“But what if someone –“ Chad began.

“Then we show them we’re in control,” Kuukaku snapped. She had that gleeful smile again. Chad was getting nervous of it. He’d been nervous enough when she’d been smiling that way when she shot them off in a cannonball, and it was only getting worse.

The gates were in pieces, scattered through into the prison entrance in a fan of shattered stone, and the archway was charred and cracked. The courtyard beyond was empty.

Kuukaku stepped through the archway and into the courtyard. “Ichimaru Gin is no longer in command here,” she said, in a perfectly normal voice that somehow carried through the empty space and beat against the walls. “The Gotei 13 are resuming control. I will speak with the governor of this place, and I will do it now.”

The echoes whispered round the shattered courtyard. _Now, now, now . . ._

And someone answered. A bulky figure stepped out from a doorway on the other side. He was in shinigami black, but wore a wide white sash diagonally across his chest, and a necklace of thick beads around his neck. His hair was short and smoothly trimmed, with little kiss-curls above each ear, and he moved with the arrogance of someone who thought he had nothing to fear. “I hear someone’s asking for me,” he snarled.

Kuukaku set her hand on her hip. “I am Shiba Kuukaku of the Noble House of Shiba. This place is now under the authority of the Gotei 13. You will surrender the keys of the prison to me and face due trial for any crimes which you may have committed during your command here.”

“Yes?” He raised both eyebrows, assuming an attitude of Amused Surprise. There was something a little wrong with his motions: he seemed to need to think them through first, rather than moving naturally. “Well, madam, I am Jirobou Ikkanzaka, also known as Kamaitachi Jirobou, and I serve directly under Ichimaru-soutaichou. I suggest that you surrender yourself and your servants now, if you want him to show you any sort of mercy when he returns.”

Chad frowned. That name was familiar. “Um . . .” he murmured.

“Yes?” Kuukaku hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“I think Ishida beat this guy up when we were in Soul Society before. Inoue-san told me about it. He threatened her and Ishida beat him so badly that it took his powers away.”

“Right,” Kuukaku muttered. She turned her attention back to Jirobou. “You’re not looking bad . . . for a shinigami who was defeated and lost his powers a few months back. But if you think I’m going to surrender to you, then you must have had a bad case of brain damage.”

Jirobou smirked and took a few paces forward. “Ah, Shiba-san, that sort of thing can be fixed. That sort of thing can even be improved.”

Kuukaku raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had those lunatics experimenting on you? You poor bastard. Fair enough. I think we can get you a lower sentence based on reduced capacity.”

Jirobou’s hand fell to the hilt of his zanpakutou, and he dragged it out of its sheath, snarling. “Madam, you’re going to pay for that insult.”

There was a rustle of steel behind Kuukaku and Chad as her retainers drew their blades.

“Leave it to me and Sado,” Kuukaku said over her shoulder. “You lot spread out, clear the cells. You know the plan. Sado? Are you with me?”

Chad grunted in affirmative response. He shifted his feet to settle his stance, moving his right arm forward in readiness to shield.

“Take flight!” Jirobou shouted, positioning his palm above the tip of his zanpakutou. “Tsunzakigarasu!”

He thrust his hand downwards as if he would impale it on the blade, but instead the zanpakutou seemed to fragment, leaving him holding the hilt of the zanpakutou with a hundred tiny things whirring around him in the air, curved blades spinning round and round, each cutting its own arc in the air. Chad squinted at them, but he could only make out the blurred flash of metal and the white of bone.

Jirobou himself seemed to slump, as if his body was somehow contracting into his clothing, his skeleton too weak to support him. His sunken eyes glared at them. “They talk to me, you know,” he said. “They tell me things in the night.”

“Excuse me,” Chad said politely to Kuukaku, then threw a blast at the spinning blades. It was more of a testing shot than anything - or at least, that was how he decided to think of it, rather than proof that he still wasn’t back to form – and he wasn’t too surprised when most of them managed to avoid it. A few were caught in the blast’s nimbus and shattered, but the others dived in all directions, then hovered, still spinning.

“Let’s try to take him alive, Sado,” Kuukaku said quietly. “For his brother’s sake.”

“His brother?” Chad kept an eye on the whirling blades.

“Jidanbou. You know Jidanbou.” Kuukaku frowned. “Can you keep Jirobou’s attention while I work round behind him?”

Of course Chad remembered Jidanbou. The keeper of the West Gate. A decent man. Someone who deserved better than to have his brother killed. Someone who deserved better than to find out his brother was serving Ichimaru Gin, too, but he supposed you couldn’t fix everything. But it was disappointing, and somehow frightening, to think that one brother could have done everything that Jidanbou did to help, and that the other brother, this man, could have . . .

He put aside the thought, and gave Kuukaku a nod. There was just a fraction of justified pride to it. If Ishida had handled this man, then Chad could certainly do it too.

That was another thought, one he could barely stand to touch; Ishida had _died_. The Espada Szayel Apollo had barely commented on it, except for a disgusted reference that “the Quincy hadn’t lasted long”, and Kurotsuchi Mayuri had only brought the subject up when raving to one of his subordinate surrounding daughters about how he should have been given full custody of all the prisoners, all of them, all the time, and Aizen should have seen that right from the beginning, and it was enough to make him rethink this whole alliance, and let Aizen disappoint him just one more time, just one more . . .

Chad had usually tuned out during those rants, trying to put his mind somewhere that couldn’t be touched. He’d known that there might be a chance for escape, for vengeance – no, a chance to set things _right_. That would have been what his grandfather would have said. Not to use his hands, except to protect others. Not to fight, except to set things right.

Kuukaku grinned, that reckless grin again, and leapt into the air, skimming to his right as smoothly as a skater and swinging round in a wide loop. She wasn’t as fast as Ichigo, or some of the shinigami Chad had met, not as fast as Kyouraku Shunsui had been, but she was still quicker than any normal human could have been.

A few of the blades whirled to follow her, but Chad threw a quick blast at them, then another at the main body of the zanpakutou swarm. That got their attention. They shifted like a swirl of wasps in the wind, then came at him.

A blast of force obliterated a dozen of the things, but the others swerved to either side, spinning like tiny helicopters or sycamore seeds. They looked like throwing knives carved out of bone, but there was an unsettling jaggedness along their edges. Chad couldn’t see them close enough to judge yet, but he suspected they were barbed. They might not have mouths, but they certainly had teeth.

“I can make more,” Jirobou said, and sheathed his zanpakutou, then drew it again. More whirling blades leapt from the scabbard in a long fluid whip of motion, like a woman’s scarf shaken out in the wind. He slumped in on himself, but his eyes still flared like mad coals in the fatness of his face. “Lots and lots more.”

The blades began to spread out to encircle Chad, and he made a strategic decision that while he preferred to fight by bracing himself and throwing punches, simply standing there and having them come at him from all sides at once would be stupid. He stepped back, then back again, till the shadow of the ruined archway fell across him and momentarily cut the sun from his eyes.

Right. He could use that. He didn’t have to keep on batting all these things out of the air separately. He just had to get them all in one place and then smack them down.

A few dozen of the blades slid upwards, suddenly shifting their axis from horizontal to vertical and sliding through the dusty air like revolving saw blades. He tracked them out of the corner of his eye for a moment, letting the other blades drive him back another few paces until he was standing directly under the archway, tossing the odd blast to still look as if he was fighting. From what Orihime had said, Jirobou had always liked attacking people from behind, even when he was still a _proper_ shinigami. He wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to send his blades over the wall and have them strike Chad from behind. It wasn’t even the common-sense impulse to strike a weak point or to attack when the opponent was distracted. It was a sort of nastiness that Chad disliked.

He couldn’t help feeling just a little bit pleased that in this case, this time round, the nastiness might get some payback.

 _Assuming this isn’t because he’s been driven insane because madmen experimented on him,_ his conscience reminded him, _in which case you ought to try to be sympathetic and knock him down quickly and gently._

Chad sighed.

There was no sign of Kuukaku anywhere, but there was enough power going off around the place to make the ground tremble under Chad’s feet. He snorted, settled himself, and looked up at the archway above him. Plenty of cracks.

He would have preferred to be doing this in Hueco Mundo, but a man fought where he had to, not where he wanted to.

A high whirring in the air behind him told him that the blades were incoming from behind, as well as the ones he could see in front of him. He raised both hands, and pumped a blast into the stonework above him. A section of it directly above him shattered into dust, quite simply vaporised, and fragments of stone hung in the air for an everlasting moment before tumbling down in an avalanche.

The shield sprang from his right hand, holding like a cliff against the wave of falling architecture, and stone and dust fell all round him on either side. It made a lot of noise, but above it all he could hear tiny screams and crackles.

He’d thought that those things wouldn’t be very good at reversing direction mid-flight. They weren’t.

The crashing stopped. With a new blast of power he flung the piled rocks back from around him, stepping out to face Jirobou again. The man was staring at him, tears running from the corners of his eyes and tracking in the dust that covered his face, that was falling all across the courtyard and around him.

“You could surrender,” Chad suggested gently.

“I’ll tear you apart!” Jirobou screamed. He began the gesture to summon more of the things, wrenching his arm across his body in a painful jerking motion.

Kuukaku exploded out of the ground behind Jirobou in a plume of sand and a burst of power. He went flying in a loose tumble of limbs and belly, his face contorted in shock and pain, and ploughed across several metres of courtyard face-first.

Chad’s own blast of power caught Jirobou on the chin and flipped him neatly. He went down with a thud, and didn’t move again. His motionless body seemed shrunken now that he was still, his arms and legs at odd angles, his chest barely moving.

“Not bad,” Kuukaku said, emerging from the falling sand and dust. “You seem to have got your act together, boy. Ready for some more action?”

Chad glanced down at the unconscious Jirobou. “Will he be . . .” he started.

“He’s alive,” Kuukaku said dismissively. “I’ll have him put in shackles. But he’s not going to be the only one around, not by a long shot. You think you can handle yourself, if we go looking for some more trouble?”

“Yes,” Chad said slowly. “I think I can.”

* * *

When they came up from the underground, the stone walls of Senzaikyu gleamed purest white. The Tower of Penitence had one entrance, an arch in the walls over steps up into the prison that seemed to stretch forever. They would be out in the open. The stairs were designed so that a single man could hold it, for a while, as Abarai Renji had held it against Kurosaki Ichigo, so long ago, when the ryoka had invaded. Soi Fong frowned. There were reiatsu detectors that would sound the alarm if they tried to use shunpo. There was no help for it: they'd just have to take the steps at a run.

The silent flow of black bodies made Soi Fong proud. She was even happier when they flooded into the administration levels as efficiently as an army of ants into a kitchen. It was faster and quieter to kill the guards scattered through the buildings than to try and restrain or keep them alive. If she were merciful, she would have to set guards on them to make sure they didn't escape and warn the others, and she just didn't have the people to spare. Soi Fong comforted herself with the thought that every guard in here had only gotten here by promising to kill the innocent who were imprisoned here.

It was a slow, grinding bloody process, but building by building, they moved up, silencing all the guards and destroying every weapon they didn't take for their own use. The _ting_ of zanpakutou breaking sounded a final knell for each of the gifted dead, and Soi Fong wasn't surprised to glimpse tears on the face of two or three of her people.

Her Onmitsukidou were still people.

Then they came to the building at the mouth of the bridge that led into the Tower proper. The guards there split into two groups: one to try and hold them off, the others using their pole arms to hack at the prisoners in their cells. Kawate leapt in with her naginata and smashed poles with impunity. To Soi Fong's relief, the mothers knew enough to put their hands over their children's mouths as the black-clad figures sprung into action.

Blood flowed and splattered, but not a sound was made.

When they opened the doors, the mothers looked at each other and sat back down on the floor of their cells. Sato blinked at them from where he knelt with the lock picks. "You can go."

One tall slender woman with eyes the same steel gray as Kuchiki's stood. "No, we should not. If we leave the building and the grounds, those higher up in the Tower will see us moving free and know something is up. We will stay here until you come back."

"What if we do not come back?" Bando asked, a frown wrinkling his brow.

"If the alarms sound and we know you are discovered," the Kuchiki woman said calmly. "We will attempt to fight our way out."

"Do you have zanpakutou locked up somewhere?" Kawate asked. "As far as we know they were doing you that courtesy."

The regal woman gave a small smile. "Yes. We would be grateful if you could free the few zanpakutou that were captured. They're in a cupboard on the North wall of the guard room."

"Right. Sato, get on it."

"Hai."

Ten minutes later, a few of the ladies were armed. They didn't look particularly confident or capable, but Soi Fong didn't begrudge them at least that comfort. "Good," Soi Fong said. She gave them a nod. "Give us half an hour, unless the alarms sound." The Kuchiki lady gave Soi Fong a bow entirely too low for both their stations before leaving to talk with the others.

"You think they'll have a chance?" Bando asked, as they headed for the door.

"If we fail, no. Not a chance in hell, but they'll be happier going down fighting," Kawate answered, grimly.

All of them paused in the shadow of the front doorway as they looked at the slender expanse before them. The Bridge into the Tower of Penitence leaped an impossibly long gap.

"There are two guards up there, watching the span. They rotate in alternation, so someone always has their eyes on the walkway. We're not going to be able to do what we did at the staircase," Kawate murmured.

"Unless we blind them," Sato said mockingly.

That caught Soi Fong's imagination. "Or we make it so that they cannot see us. Make ourselves invisible."

"We can't use reiatsu or kido. There are sensors," Kawate warned.

"Then they'll be even more lax, thinking that their sensors will catch everything. If we do the Shadow spell before we're on the bridge and just maintain it while walking over, will the sensors detect it?"

"But there is no invisibility spell!" Sato objected, but when Soi Fong and the two older members of the group smirked, he frowned. "Or at least nothing they taught in the Academy."

"It'll be harder in broad daylight," Bando said, thoughtfully. "But with the Captain's power..."

"Ex-Captain," Soi Fong said shortly. "While I'm not short of power, I am short an arm for the passes. You're going to have to cover us."

Bando winced. "Right, sir. I'm not going to be much use..."

"We'll carry you."

"I was afraid you were going to say that." Bando drew the diagrams and did the passes, taking his time. Soi Fong felt the surge of spiritual power as the lines glowed. He collapsed, she nodded to the others, and they picked him up bodily.

The spell provided cover, but since it confused light, so that others couldn't see them, they couldn't see out from the cover all that well. The world swam and buckled, but the floor under their feet remained steady and sane.

"Let's go," Soi Fong murmured, and they headed out into the brilliant, open sunlight shining down on the slender finger of a bridge to the Tower proper.

Their shadows flitted by them, pale gray and fuzzy instead of black and sharp. Soi Fong counted the steps under her breath, and when they reached a thousand, she looked under the front edge of the spell. Using her good hand, she lifted it with her will, and saw the shining white door within touch.

"We're there," she whispered. "Keep it up just a little longer, Bando, we need to get in under cover."

The officer of the day and one full guard detail stood in the front foyer. Soi Fong led them right up to within a foot of the detail, hand signaled putting Bando down, and launched the attack.

Her people knew her priorities, and they took out the first dozen guards through their throats. Fierce hand-to-hand chaos filled the next handful of breaths. Impact on impact, all done in complete silence on the part of her people, and any opponent that went for an alarm or even took a deep breath to yell became the focus of everyone's attack. Sato took two stabs from silent solders while taking care of a woman about to cry out. Screams died bubbling breaths, lung shots ended _kiyas_ with brutal efficiency, and Soi Fong pinned the hands of the officer of the day with kunai before he could hit the panic button for the upper level cells. She finished him with a single swift stroke.

They all thought they were done when the last body fell. Panting where they stood and dripping from wounds and from the blood of their opponents, they weren't prepared for the janitor, who burst screaming from a closet and ran up the stairs.

"Aw, _fuck_ ," muttered Sato.

"Head straight up," Soi Fong ordered, and they all burst up the stairs. Klaxons went off, so loud they battered the senses and all semblance of thought.

It became nothing but action and reaction. The sekkiseki stone turned every motion into something done underwater, made mere shunpo feel like as impossible as it might have been for a mere human, and the ice cold sucking of power made Soi Fong angry: truly angry, hornet and crazy wasp angry.

Bankai would only allow the stone to suck everything out of her, so she held back on that impulse. Instead, Soi Fong used Suzumebachi physically, startling opponents by running in, deflecting their first strike, and getting in close enough to touch them before stabbing them. Extended swords and pole arms that were doubtless good against people with swords or kidou were useless against the tactic. It bought her quick seconds of bloody mayhem.

They swept up the stairs, and when they found no resistance at all Soi Fong grew suspicious. The cries and thuds within the cells confirmed her worst fears. "Sato, Bando, save whom you can."

They split off.

"Kawate," Soi Fong said, and the woman took lead.

"Top floor first."

Two more bursts of stair sprinting, and they were at the top of the tower. Soi Fong was grateful for her physical training, as she was barely out of breath. The door stood ominously open, and the sound of a stone lock on stone keys grated out even on the landing. Voices and the sound of a number of feet made Soi Fong frown and signal who went in first.

Hatori, then Kawate, who might have a better chance at identifying whom it was they were supposed to save and whom to kill, and then Soi Fong jumped in the cell.

A huge body lay bound by dozens of reiatsu binders, the stones all alight with power, and it was bound to four wooden posts sunk deep into the floor. The person had been wrapped so tightly by chain and other holders that the five guards were having difficulty getting by the metal with their pole weapons. Even as Soi Fong bounded into the room, a naginata fell. She saw a shift in the mountain of flesh, the _ching_ of metal striking metal, and two ends of chain flew into the air.

By luck, happenstance, or incredibly good skill, the ends hit two of the guards, sending both back two steps. The third raised another pole-arm, and Hatori landed on him with a satisfying crunch. Three-on-five wasn't at all fair in all the ways not-fair satisfied Soi Fong, and as soon as the guards were down, Soi Fong flung the command, "Help save the others. I'll take care of him."

Hatori and Kawate flung themselves out of the cell, and the sounds of fighting floated up from below.

Soi Fong approached the big figure cautiously and danced to the side as another turn of the big body flicked raw chain ends at her. She caught one in mid-air, helping it unwind.

The bound figure stilled, and when tiny Soi Fong pushed at the big form to get it to sit upright, it helped. A flick of her knives loosened straps and binders, lights on the binders went out, and muscles flexed. Under the layers of wrapping Soi Fong felt a _breath_ drawn slow, deep, and sure. She stepped back out of the room, around the doorway, in sudden intuition. Something burst apart in the room: metal, rope, leather, and splinters of wood hit the wall between her and the prisoner and pattered to the reiatsu-sucking floor.

When she stepped back in, she found a big, pink man, literally pink of hair and mustache, with sad eyes. She walked up to him, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"You freed me?" he asked, with a voice rusty with disuse.

Soi Fong nodded.

"Why?"

"We're freeing everyone."

He nodded. "Good. Gin?"

"He is attacked in an extended position."

"Not dead?"

"Not yet. But I'm expecting news at any time."

The huge head nodded ponderously. "And his base?"

"Ours, all of it."

"I am..." The pause was startlingly delicate for such a huge man, as was the intelligence behind the small eyes.

Soi Fong's gaze narrowed as the man hesitated longer, there was something familiar about the face, the stance, and she searched her memory even as she introduced herself to prompt him. "I am Soi Fong," she said, "The former Captain of the Second Division."

The man blinked and then smiled, "Ah, thank you for your help, Soi Fong-Taichou. It may interest you to know that I am Ushoda Hachigen, a former Vice-Captain of the Kido Corp and the guarantee of someone else's good behavior. You might want to send news of my release to anyone you might have in Hueco Mundo."

Soi Fong gave a shark's grin. "I might, indeed."


	36. Grimmjow: Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vice-captain of the Gotei 13 makes a choice. -- by incandescens

**GRIMMJOW: TRAUMA**

“You’re the healer,” Hisagi-fukutaichou said, turning on Hanatarou. “Do something. Fix her. Now.” His lips were peeled back from his teeth. It wasn’t a smile.

Hanatarou was uncertain of everything. Hisagi-fukutaichou’s behaviour. This laboratory, abruptly so quiet and so empty. This woman, who he’d seen kill other Fourth Division healers, and who had been ready to kill him as well, who had been _in the middle_ of killing him when Ogidou had stopped her.

Only one thing was absolutely clear at the moment. Even if this woman was Kurotsuchi Nemu, even if she was a traitor like her father, she was in pain at the moment, and there was no reason to leave her that way. “Kindly move clear of her and let me look her over,” he told Hisagi-fukutaichou, with as much firmness as he could manage. “I can’t tell anything about her from halfway across the room.”

Hisagi-fukutaichou smirked, but he let Hanatarou approach Kurotsuchi Nemu. He took her hand, holding it in his own, ignoring the gel that streaked her fingers and soaked her palm and wrist. “It’ll be all right,” he said, as though he was soothing a child. “We’ll have her back. I promise.”

Hanatarou began checking Kurotsuchi Nemu’s vital signs and reiatsu points, going over them with a thoroughness that might even have won a word of commendation from Unohana-taichou. It gave him something immediate and coherent to do and think about, and it let him avoid Hisagi-fukutaichou’s eyes for a few more seconds.

Because even if Hisagi-fukutaichou was right about the zanpakutou – and what was the matter with Hisagi-fukutaichou, anyhow? – then how could you put back someone’s zanpakutou, once it had been taken away? How could you actually heal someone on that level?

He wasn’t looking forward to being the person who had to say that.

\---

Grimmjow ignored the wounded little Arrancar ( _a disgrace to the name,_ something inside him spat, but it did so in a weary way, more out of habit than anything else, and not even certain of itself any more) and the battered shinigami, and the dead shinigami, and all the bodies, heading for where he could still hear voices and action. That would be where he might find a fight, and that would be an answer to everything that was knotted up inside him.

It was all part of the same problem. Everything from the hot pleasant happiness of brawling hand-to-hand with Madarame and his people, to the strange expression on Ukitake’s face at the meeting, to the way that Harribel had smashed him down, to the Inoue girl’s tone when she’d asked about healing him, to . . . all of it, all complex and twisted and moving inside him like a hot pulse of muscle. Fighting someone else would answer it.

 _For how long?_ the voice inside him whispered, leaning inside his head and chest hard enough that he could feel it, know that it wasn’t just a stray thought.

 _Shut up,_ he told it, ignoring for the moment that he had decided it didn’t really exist. _Don’t have any fucking time for you now. Got things to do._

 _You can only put me off so long before I come and knock all your doors down,_ the voice purred inside him.

 _You want me to pay some attention to you? Then be some fucking use,_ he thought.

He recognised the entrance to Kurotsuchi’s labs. The dead bodies of that Nemu woman and the remains of some sort of alarm system littered the place. He picked his way between the corpses, cautious now, not wanting to rush headlong into trouble when he could perfectly well see what was going on and then choose his moment to get his hands dirty.

“Well? Can’t you do something?”

It was Hisagi’s voice, with an unusual edge to it, a ragged sharpness that made Grimmjow want to exchange a few blows with him on general principles.

The response was stammered and uncertain, not quite audible, but it was clearly that guy from Fourth Division, the one they’d run into earlier. But if they were standing around talking, then the fight had to be over.

Well, shit.

Grimmjow sighed, dropped his hand from where he’d been smoothing the hilt of his sword, and headed in to find out what the hell the morons were playing at this time. It was worse than trying to keep his old crew on track. You needed to grab them and point them in the right direction.

 _Except that of course that doesn’t apply to us,_ the voice in the back of his mind said firmly.

Well, of course not. He didn’t even dignify that with a response.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, stepping into the room. The two of them were standing around yet another vat. The place was too full of vats. There was one of the Nemu women in the vat, and the healer was taking her pulse, while Hisagi was – gods help them all – holding her hand. Well, shit, he hadn’t thought Hisagi swung that way. Of all the times to get romantic on them.

“It’s Kurotsuchi Nemu,” Hisagi answered, with a go-on-just-take-offense-please drawl to his voice. It made a healthy change from the man’s usual attempt to act stone-faced and all Tousen-like. “The real one.”

Grimmjow didn’t get it. Then he thought about it, and perhaps he did. “You mean there’s an original one? I thought he made them all in a vat or something.”

“He did,” the healer said. Hana-thingy, whatever his name was. “He made the first one that way, we think, but then he used her for base stock to create all the other ones –“

“It’s gone,” the woman in the tank whispered. Her eyes were wide and utterly hopeless, tears running down from the corners and into her hair. Grimmjow hadn’t seen a face like that since – well, fuck it, he’d never seen a face that utterly bereft. She looked like a Hollow who’d just lost their chain and heart, in that first flush of pain and loss. And he hadn’t seen any newly-born Hollows in a good long while, so why was he bothering to think of that anyhow?

With a shake, he pulled himself out of the wimp-ass memory. “Is this important? Okay, if you want to heal this one that’s fine, but can’t you just hook her vat up to something and leave it till later? We’ve got –“

“Shut your _face_ ,” Hisagi snarled, dropping the woman’s hand and coming up at him hard and sudden, shoving into Grimmjow’s personal space. “And keep it shut unless you actually work out what you’re saying. This woman’s had her zanpakutou severed. You got any idea what the hell that means?”

“No,” Grimmjow snarled back. The presence at the back of his mind bared teeth in perfect unison with him. “But if you keep on pushing me, fuckwit, then you’re going to regret it. Tell me so I can understand it. This is bad, right?”

“Yes,” the healer said, not looking up, his voice flat and distant.

 _Yes,_ the voice in Grimmjow’s mind hissed.

Grimmjow drew back a little from Hisagi, before the man did something that Grimmjow would just naturally have had to smack him down for. _Make yourself useful, then,_ he thought, and tried not to follow the logical conclusion that was oh-so-annoyingly starting to form. He didn’t have a zanpakutou, because shinigami had zanpakutou and he wasn’t a shinigami, but . . . _Explain._

 _You knew me when you were an Arrancar,_ the voice said, each word a footfall at the back of his mind, _and you forced me out and wore me like armour. Remember? But you were a Hollow then and you didn’t have a heart to hear me or know me. But now you’re healed and I’m still here, and I am laired in you, Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, now I’m the one wearing you, and I know all your secrets._

“Secrets?” he spat.

“No secret,” the healer said. He must have assumed it was a response to him. “Zanpakutou are – well, some people say they’re part of the soul. Certainly they’re very singular to the person, they’re what we –“

“They are a fucking part of the soul,” Hisagi interrupted. “They’re a part of who you are, and any moron who doesn’t acknowledge that gets what he deserves.”

“You’re in a mood to fight,” Grimmjow said. He nodded towards the Nemu. “Was she your woman, or something?”

Hisagi shook his head jerkily in denial. “No. Not her. It’s just – some things are monstrous. Even by your standards, maybe.”

“Was that an insult?”

“No. Fact.” Hisagi jerked a shrug. “We’ve all got different standards, but I think we can all agree here that some things go too far. Or why didn’t you go back to Aizen?”

“You got a point,” Grimmjow said sourly. Though in his case it had been because he knew that Aizen would do some of those ‘monstrous’ things to him, personally, and he hadn’t wanted that, personally. Real personally. He wasn’t sure how much he cared about it being done to someone else. He wouldn’t have let Aizen do it to one of _his_ people – they’d died in battle, and that was a good way to go, but he’d never have handed them over to this. He wouldn’t even want Aizen to do it to Kurosaki Ichigo, or Madarame, or even those other shinigami who were on the mission. His people deserved better than that.

 _Your people?_ the voice in his mind said with a vast but clearly faked lack of interest.

_Yeah, my people. You got a problem with that?_

_Just making a point here, Grimmjow._ There was an impression of a yawn, a long surge of muscle, and a show of teeth as the _thing_ in his mind began to rouse itself, to move and stretch. _You’re mine. I’m yours. Everyone’s got a right to defend their own._

Now that he could agree with. _Yeah,_ he thought, and watched the healer fuss over the Nemu’s body and quite clearly get nowhere with it. _And I’ve got no issue with anyone else defending their own. That’s what makes a good fight._

“I can’t do anything,” the healer said, turning round. He shuffled around the vat till it was between him and Hisagi, cringing nervously. “Hisagi-fukutaichou, I’m very sorry, but the linkages are all broken. Kurotsuchi has disconnected all her spiritual energy control points that would normally link the nervous system to the vital energy and reconnected them in a sort of drone operation format –“

“Fix. Her,” Hisagi said.

“I can’t!” The healer grabbed the edge of the vat, leaning forward. “Hisagi-fukutaichou, don’t you think that I would do if I could? I’m Fourth Division! But what’s been done to her is _permanent_! Kurotsuchi used her as the source material for all the other Nemu in order to create them in the way that he did. I don’t know how he did it and I don’t want to know how he did it, but I don’t know how to fix it either. I don’t even know if Inoue Orihime could fix her, and anyhow she’s opening Aizen’s door --”

Hisagi moved towards him with a fixed glare of fury, but Grimmjow grabbed the other man’s arm before he could reach the healer. “Wait. So he can’t fix it. So maybe someone else can fix it. So we leave her here, she’ll be safe enough, and we come back later –“ He didn’t like this sort of putting shit off, but it wasn’t as if he could fix her, was it?

And maybe he didn’t like what had been done to her, either. This wasn’t a fight. It was . . . nasty. Yes. Nasty would do for a way of describing this sort of shit. Not liking _nasty_ stuff didn’t make him any the less a man or a fighter.

“No,” Nemu whispered.

“Don’t give me any fucking backtalk,” Grimmjow snarled down at her. “This isn’t the time or place for it. If you’ve got something useful to say –“

“I have.” She stirred in the thick green gel that half-filled her vat. “Kurotsuchi-sama . . . father . . . I know what he did. I know what to do.”

Hisagi’s muscles bunched, and he shrugged Grimmjow off (purely because Grimmjow had decided to let him, of course) and stalked over to the vat, ignoring the healer. “You know how to reunite yourself?”

“I know what to do.” Her voice was more focused now, her eyes more certain. “Seventh Seat Hanatarou. Please follow the following instructions.” She rattled off a stream of science babble which went about a mile over Grimmjow’s head, but which set the healer scampering to fix connections and hit switches.

Hisagi took a deep breath of relief. “I knew it could be fixed,” he told Grimmjow. “We just needed to ask the right person.”

“She’s not going to be fit to fight,” Grimmjow pointed out.

“We’ll hide her with the other non-combatants,” Hisagi said dismissively. “But I’m not leaving any of my people behind in this crap. Not any more.”

The healer looked up from where he was fussing over tubes and switches, and gave Hisagi a very cool look. In another man, it might have been an accusation. Hell, with the healer’s reiatsu (on a gauge of Waterfall to Stream, Grimmjow rated it as Just Above Piddling) it was definitely an accusation.

“Don’t give me that,” Hisagi said. He turned to glare at the healer. “You know we didn’t have a choice then.”

“As you say . . . Hisagi-fukutaichou,” the healer said. He went back to fiddling with tubes, and then he frowned. “Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou, I don’t understand the purpose of this arrangement. There is no way that this could sustain your vital levels.”

“I am your superior officer,” Nemu said thinly, her voice as brittle as Aizen’s fanciest teacups. “Do as you are ordered.”

“No,” the healer said, folding his arms. “With respect, ma’am, no.”

“What do you mean?” Grimmjow said, deciding to cut to the fucking point before someone walked up behind them and attacked again.

“This configuration is lethal!” The healer flapped his hand at the controls. He seemed to be the sort of person who always had to be in twitching, cringing motion, cowering away from anyone that got too near. “It’s an open-band like-to-like broadcast, I can tell that much, and it’ll kill you –“

”No damn way!” Hisagi burst out.

“Yes,” Nemu whispered. “Yes, _please_.”

“We’ll get the Inoue girl,” Hisagi said. “She fixed him –“ He jerked a thumb at Grimmjow. “She can restore you.”

Much as Grimmjow disliked the word _fixed_ in that context, the dumbass had a point. If Inoue Orihime could wave her hands and sort Nemu out, like she’d sorted out Kurosaki, then that’d please everyone.

He strode forward to glare down into the woman’s vat. “Pull yourself together,” he ordered. There wasn’t anything remotely sexy about her. She was skin and bones, barely alive, with her rib cage harsh against the lines of her chest and her hip joints painfully prominent a bit lower down. Normally he’d have felt some sort of desire when looking at a naked woman, even when he’d been a Hollow . . .

 _Tell me about it,_ the voice at the back of his mind said with a sigh.

But she was all drained dry. There was no attraction or vitality left about her. It was all –

 _It’s gone somewhere else,_ the voice supplied. _They cut her zanpakutou out of her and then drained her of her soul through the hole it left behind._

“It’s all gone,” Nemu said. She looked up at him, her eyes hollow and distracted. “There’s only one way. I have to die, all of me has to die, and then I’ll be together again. Even if Inoue Orihime restores me here, then all the rest of me will keep on living, all set apart, all bleeding at the soul, and they don’t know it. They don’t even know it.”

“But you’ll be dead,” Grimmjow pointed out in case she’d missed this fact.

“Look at me,” she said, and that was all. It wasn’t the wreck of her body, or the pain in her face, but it was her utter helplessness as she lay there, having to beg them for help, having to crawl to them for ease. Grimmjow wouldn’t have begged for help from anyone, friend or enemy, and far less taken it. To hear it now from someone who’d once been strong enough to be a vice-captain of the Gotei 13, who were enemies but had been strong enemies . . . it turned his stomach.

“There must be something you can do,” Hisagi said, but there was a shadow of doubt in his voice, a whisper of despair. “Think, Nemu! Put your fucking brain to it! You were Kurotsuchi’s daughter –“

“I know what he did to me,” Nemu said. She swallowed. Her throat worked. “Nobody knows it better. Seventh Seat Hanatarou. Press that switch.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hisagi said, his hand clenching on the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t stopped touching the thing since he’d been in here.

Grimmjow turned to him with a snarl, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Look, fuckwit, I know she was one of your people, but think about it. Can you fix her so she can fight with us?”

“That’s not the point!” Hisagi shouted in his face.

“Fine. Then can you heal her?”

“Of course I can’t heal her!”

Grimmjow slid forward, right into Hisagi’s personal space. “Then are you going to look her in the eye and tell her that she’s going to have to fucking lie there, in pain and begging for help, till we can find someone who might, _might_ be able to fix her, when the best person that we’ve got here says that she can’t be fixed? And that’s assuming we manage to kill Aizen and actually live ourselves?”

Something broke. Hisagi drew a deep, ragged breath and turned away, his back to Grimmjow.

“Right,” Grimmjow said. “I thought not.”

“Nemu –“ Hisagi began.

“It’s not your fault, Hisagi-fukutaichou,” the woman whispered, her voice thready and thin. “None of it was your fault. I was weak. Let me go.”

The healer hesitated.

“You.” Grimmjow grabbed Hisagi’s shoulder. “You were her friend, right? You do it.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Hisagi demanded, his hand coming up to grab Grimmjow’s wrist. “I can’t –“

“She can’t go out fighting,” Grimmjow explained, with great patience, though he would rather have smacked the fuckwit around the head till he got the message. “She was one of _your_ people. It’s your job.”

Hisagi turned to the healer. “Tell me there’s something that can be done,” he said. “There must be.”

The healer swallowed. Then he raised his eyes, and spoke with more courage than Grimmjow would have given him credit for. “I never really knew her, Hisagi-fukutaichou, but she served alongside you. If this is the real Kurotsuchi Nemu – and I think it is – then what Kurotsuchi Mayuri did to her wasn’t her fault. And if this is the only help we can give, then . . .” He hesitated. “I didn’t know her. I don’t know what she would have chosen.”

“I’m not sure anyone knew her,” Hisagi said, barely audible. “Perhaps if Nanao –“

Grimmjow didn’t say what he thought of an attempt to shift responsibility like that. He didn’t need to. He just looked at the man, feeling the presence at the back of his mind rise up around him and shake out its mane and gaze down with cold contemptuous eyes.

“Fine!” Hisagi shoved Grimmjow back. “Fine. Nemu. Listen, woman. Hanatarou, give me that fucking button. Nemu, I would have restored you if you could, I would have given you back to her. I want you to believe that. I want you to tell me that you honestly believe that I would have done it.” His face was white, and his eyes burned like dead volcanoes. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Hisagi-fukutaichou,” Nemu said. The last of her strength showed through in her voice as she struggled for calm. “I acknowledge this. You would have saved me. It is not your fault that I cannot be saved. I thank you. I thank you all. You are setting me free.”

“Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou,” the healer said, and bowed his head.

Hisagi hit the button with a curse.

There was nothing dramatic to it. The lights on the vat flickered and went out, and the woman’s eyes closed, and her breathing stopped. Grimmjow would have liked to see more than that: to see her smile, or frown, or to have something blow up. But sometimes a death was just a death, and that was all you got.

Not his business, anyhow.

“Come on,” he said. “You two should be getting back. There aren’t any more to fight down this way. We came to fight Aizen, didn’t we?”

“And Kurotsuchi himself might return,” the healer said. He looked around nervously. “I don’t know where he is, but I don’t think it would be very good if he found us here.”

“Yeah? I kind of wish he would do,” Hisagi spat. “I wouldn’t mind the chance to do a bit of it to him too.”

“Moron,” Grimmjow drawled. “Pick your fights better.”

Hisagi snorted. “Am I hearing that right? From you?”

“Damn right,” Grimmjow said. “First rule is, remember who you came to fucking fight in the first place. Or have you forgotten that?”

Hisagi stared at him for a long moment, then shook himself like a dog coming out of water. His hand tightened on his sword hilt. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there. But when that’s done, Kurotsuchi’s going down.”

“Yeah,” Grimmjow agreed. “I might help with that one.”

“It’s my fight –“ Hisagi began.

“You _fight_ a _man_ ,” Grimmjow pointed out. “But you don’t _fight_ a piece of crap. You just dispose of it. Kurotsuchi is a piece of crap.”

“Gentlemen, please . . .” the healer murmured. “Hisagi-fukutaichou, Grimmjow-san . . .”

“Right. Let’s get moving.” Grimmjow led the way to the door, eager to get back to where the important stuff was going on. Once he was sure the other two were following, he ignored them.

 _You’re my zanpakutou, aren’t you?_ he asked the voice inside his head.

 _Finally he figures it out,_ the voice sighed.

_And if I lost you, would I end up like her?_

_Possibly. Possibly not. Not in that way, anyhow._

_Fucking lot of use you are._

_Go lick your ass at someone else,_ the voice suggested. _There’s no need to give me that sort of temper. I know you and you know me. Not like some people._ There was a shadow to the voice, a shift of tone, that made Grimmjow think that the reference was very specific, but he didn’t get it.

_So I can rely on you?_

_I’m not going away any time soon._

_Damn right,_ Grimmjow thought.

He knew the voice’s name now. What had been outside was now inside, sealed tight into his newly-remade heart, and to be honest, to be utterly and brutally honest, it didn’t feel bad. It felt right for it to be there. It felt . . . good.

_Pantera._

Yes. That was the strange thing. It felt good.

But for the moment, he had his people to see to; his people, and his fights, and his revenge.

\---  



	37. Ensemble: Haste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speed is required. -- by incandescens and liralenli

**ENSEMBLE: HASTE**  


Momo watched the shadow follow Ukitake-taichou and Isane, quickening its movement as it slid after them over the broken ground. Bricks and timber fell to dust as it passed over them, and plants visibly aged and withered before crumbling. It seemed to be stabilising at perhaps twice the size of a man. Perhaps. She hoped.

She should have been following Ukitake-taichou’s order immediately and calling for help, but she couldn’t look away from the fleeing pair until she was certain that they were a safe distance ahead of the thing, and that it wasn’t going to catch them unless something changed. Something like it speeding up. Or Isane slowing down. But Isane was running like a hare across the smoky countryside, Ukitake-taichou’s hair floating out behind the pair of them: she watched for another few seconds until they were gone into the trees.

Iba grunted, and sat down next to Shirogane. Momo turned, hurrying over to make sure that he was all right. His hand moved to check Shirogane’s pulse.

“Is she –“ Momo started.

“No,” Iba said. He sighed. “Didn’t expect it, either.”

“No.” Momo hadn’t either. She’d only hoped. “The others?”

“Suzuki’s dead,” Iba said. He wiped ash and dirt from his face. “Rikichi’s unconscious. The others are alive. No worries there. Message.” He blinked. “You got enough juice left to reach our people in Seireitei?“

Momo realised that it was taking a miracle to keep her upright. That last blast from Tobiume had cost her almost everything she had. “Of course,” she said firmly, and sat down next to Iba.

“Good girl.” He patted her on the shoulder as she focused.

She ran through the facts in her head, trying to get them clear. She knew that she didn’t have the strength for a long message, and she didn’t want the last thing Soi Fong-taichou heard to be _And Ukitake-taichou is urgh..._ It’d be so unprofessional. She’d never hear the end of it.

\---

Soi Fong came down the long flight of white stairs side by side with Ushoda Hachigen, with one of her people ten yards ahead and another ten yards behind. This would be the worst and most ironic of all times to be hit by an ambush, or to have one of Ichimaru’s assassins jump out at them when they were all affected by the tower’s reiatsu-drain.

(Had it been her, she would have arranged such a surprise for any intruders, at a moment like this when they could have been reasonably assumed to be most off their guard. Poison would also have been involved, maybe with a ranged attack to draw attention while a close-combatant moved in from behind. She so rarely had the opportunity to discuss this sort of thing with other people who appreciated it properly. Even good commanders like Ukitake-taichou would develop a certain distance and a tendency to find other important subjects that they needed to discuss, thank you for your important contribution to the subject, Soi Fong-taichou, we will perhaps go into it later.)

The thought of Ukitake-taichou made her wonder what his current situation was. Ichimaru hadn’t come back, which meant that either Ukitake-taichou’s group had disposed of him, or they were keeping him busy for the moment. As soon as this place was secured, she would take a strike team and go to help.

Ushoda nodded to himself, looking around. “Yes,” he said quietly. His voice was a little hoarse, as though he hadn’t been using it for a while. “Yes, I thought it must be something like this.”

“And you believe Yadomaru Lisa is currently in Hueco Mundo?” Soi Fong probed. She already knew that from Grimmjow’s testimony, but she wanted to see how he’d answer. She’d given him a brief update on current events: his status as prisoner had mostly proven him as an ally of hers, or at least an enemy of Aizen’s, and she was willing to extend some degree of trust. She remembered him from a hundred years ago, when he had been second-in-command of the Kidou Corps, and she had been Yoruichi-sama’s trusted officer. She had scarcely known him then, but by all accounts he had been competent, and she valued competence.

He nodded. “Aizen was using us as leverage against each other. It made sense for him to keep us apart, so that we couldn’t plan an escape. I’m grateful to know that some of the others are still alive.” His wide face was not one to show casual emotion, but there was a darkness moving behind his eyes, a bitter anger and grief.

“We need to think where you can best be used,” Soi Fong said, not wanting to go anywhere near the question of gratitude or sympathy. “Are you still competent? Long-term reiatsu-bound imprisonment...”

He shrugged, his whole body moving heavily with the gesture. “Not as strong as I might be, but certainly still competent. Are any parts of Seireitei still under Ichimaru’s control?”

One of Shiba Kuukaku’s household came running up the steps, panting as he came, his clothing smeared with stone-dust and ashes.

 _Tired,_ Soi Fong thought, analysing the movements. _Recent exertion other than these damned stairs. Close proximity to explosion blast. No sign of being subverted by Ichimaru or being an assassination attempt._

“Soi Fong-taichou!” the man gasped as he drew closer. “Word from Shiba-sama!”

With a little inward sigh, Soi Fong flash-stepped down the stairs towards him, passing her own man on the stairs. “Not so loud,” she scolded. “Do you want the whole of Seireitei to hear?” She was conscious of Ushoda following her down, but staying a tactful few paces away: close enough to hear, but not so close that he was forcing his way into the conversation.

The man got his breathing under control, and spoke a bit more quietly. “Shiba-sama sends word that the prison is under control and the governor is in chains. Her people are checking it and releasing the prisoners that we know are trustworthy. She and all her group are in good condition, and she will be moving on from there once it’s secure. She asks if you need any assistance and what your current status is.”

Soi Fong didn’t need to spend time considering. “Tell her that the Tower of Penitence is clear, and that we’ve freed a number of hostages from the noble families, as well as one of the Vizards. We’ll meet as arranged –“

Then the message struck her. As always, it came as a surprise, and as always, she resented that. She was not supposed to be surprised. Hinamori-fukutaichou’s voice, ragged but firm, as close as if Hinamori was standing beside her and in her blind spot. “We report that Ichimaru Gin and Kira Izuru are both dead, as are the shinigami and others with them.”

Soi Fong waited. This wasn’t all of it. The others were looking at her, surprised by her sudden silence, and she held up a hand for them to be patient.

“Before dying, Ichimaru released a fragment of the Espada Barragan. It appears to be unintelligent but is pursuing the largest source of local reiatsu. Ukitake-taichou and Kotetsu-fukutaichou are leading it cross-country to the north-west from our location. They started five minutes ago, regular flash step speed. Both of them are injured. We have other injuries here, but nothing that can’t wait. Requesting urgent assistance for Ukitake-taichou, repeat, requesting urgent assistance.”

Hinamori’s voice broke off with the hollow emptiness that came when the user had no power left to sustain such a kidou, and Soi Fong knew that she probably wouldn’t be able to send any more messages for at least the next half-hour. She bit down on her own near-panic, the fingers of her hand tightening into a fist so that she wouldn’t be tempted to touch her other shoulder, to reach for the arm that wasn’t there.

“Ichimaru’s dead,” she reported concisely. “All his people with him. Ours are injured.”

But now she had an unexpected tool to her hand. Oh, Aizen and Ichimaru were going to regret imprisoning Ushoda Hachigen here, just where she could find him and make use of him, when he was most needed.

She turned to Ushoda. “Ichimaru managed to revive one of the Espada, a creature called Barragan. It has the power to accelerate aging and decay anything it touches. It –“

He held up one large hand. “I know it,” he said flatly. “Aizen used it to attack us as well. I thought it gone.”

“Clearly not. But – you have no technique that may be used against it, then?”

His wide brow furrowed. Though Soi Fong was not the sort of woman to often be amused, he might have been a figure for mockery, if not for his calm and purpose. There was a solidity to him like foundation stones. “There were things I might have tried if there had been more time and more open space. Where is it now?”

“Pursuing Ukitake-taichou across the forest,” Soi Fong said briskly. She had no time for fear now, did not even want to consider that she was afraid, because by all the gods she was the Captain of the Second Division, and Captain of Covert Operations, and she was one of the Gotei 13, and they would not be broken again. “They began five minutes ago, heading north-west, and I know the area they would have started from. Assuming a straight line, we can intercept. How’s your flash step?”

He shook out one foot, then the other, putting each down in turn with a firm stamp. “Ready,” he said, not going into further detail.

There was no help to be found elsewhere. From what she knew of Sasakibe’s abilities, he had no way of hurting this creature that she didn’t already possess, and Shiba Kuukaku simply wasn’t a combatant on that level. She flicked a glance at the Shiba messenger, then at her own people. “Report the situation to Shiba Kuukaku and to Sasakibe-fukutaichou. Support that group of noblewomen. Hold the Tower. Understood?”

Her people flicked quick salutes at her. The messenger stammered acquiescence a moment later.

She nodded in return, then gathered herself and sprang into motion, leaping across the city and for the gate, Ushoda one step behind her.

\---

Isane carefully counted the trees between flash steps.

_Two. Four. Six. Two. Four. Six. Two. Four. Six._

Three trees had allowed the shard to catch up, and Isane still felt a pang about the ancient oak she'd sacrificed to slow it down. Still, better the gnarled tree than their lives. Ten a step had nearly lost it, but that was changing as the shard devoured more in its path.

_Two. Four. Six._

Ukitake-taichou clung to her back, his slender body balancing over Isane's hips to keep her from straining. Isane ignored Ukitake-taichou's wheezing as she could do nothing about it, and she didn't want to shame him by noticing.

"Isane," Ukitake-taichou murmured, coughed wetly, "I think you might want to pick up your pace. It is speeding up."

_Eight. Two. Four. Six. Eight._

She didn't waste precious breath on answering, just nodded, and went a little farther with each step.

Minutes later, Isane was thinking again. Thinking of the past. Of what she'd heard of someone who resembled what was chasing them.

"Taichou," Isane gasped and felt the body on her back stir and straighten. "What is it?"

"It's a remnant of Barragan," Ukitake-taichou said, in a calm and contemplative voice that made Isane relax into her task of running. "One of the Arrancar we faced in the false Karakura Town. He was their Number Two. Soi Fong-taichou and her fukutaichou did their best to destroy him, even as other subordinates dealt with his people."

"Arm?" Isane asked between steps.

"Hai. That is when Soi Fong-taichou lost her arm and took worse injuries as well. Even her bankai was not enough to destroy him." Ukitake-taichou's voice took on a more musing tone. "I wonder what brought him to this form? It seems unlikely that it was the doing of anyone in the Gotei 13. What if Aizen..."

Isane kept running and let Ukitake-taichou think. The shard grew behind her, and soon she was leaping in bigger bounds Big enough it didn't matter how many trees there were, big enough she was having to concentrate on not overextending her power.

"I wonder if..." Ukitake-taichou murmured, and the exhausted despair of his tone terrified Isane.

She extended herself for two extra long jumps, pulling a surprised gasp from Ukitake-taichou.

"What?"

"Getting us further ahead..." Isane panted, "need to talk."

Three more huge shunpo steps that drained nearly the last of her resources, and the Hollow reiatsu was left far enough behind that Isane dropped Ukitake-taichou to the ground in a regrettably undignified heap. She couldn't quite care enough as she gulped air, hands on knees. "What... are... you... thinking?" she demanded between them.

Ukitake-taichou sat seiza in the dead leaves. He looked pale and drawn, nearly as fragile as the crisp remnants of the previous fall. "The shard doesn't have a personality yet, doesn't have anything but the will to eat. What would happen if it absorbed a soul that had intentions or a powerful enough will to turn it from what it was doing?"

The white haori was in Isane's fist before she even realized she'd moved. "No!" she cried, "You will not feed yourself to it to find out!"

The calm look she got back did not reassure her in the least.

"But it would be..."

Unohana-taichou's dark eyes superimposed themselves over Ukitake-taichou's features, and Isane started crying even as she shook him with both hands. "No. You. Will. Not. Give. Yourself. Up. Think of some other way. What if it doesn't work?"

The nonplussed look on Ukitake-taichou's face made Isane chuckle through her tears.

"Not work..." Thin lips pursed under the weak moonlight. "Right. It is still Hollow. If all I do is feed it my power and its will takes over with everything that I am at its disposal, that would worsen the situation significantly."

Isane nearly cried in relief at the tone.

"Maybe... maybe we should try feeding it something peaceful? See if a deer spirit or rabbits might make it more tame?"

Qualms shook Isane. The tree had been bad enough, but another living being? Isane closed her eyes. It was better to sacrifice a deer than her self or her Taichou. "A--all right," she stammered, "I think... I think I can help you, Taichou."

She reached out with her senses. There. Picking its way through the underbrush a few hundred yards to the left was the calm feel of a grazing deer. "That way."

Grimly, Ukitake-taichou levered himself up, looking painfully stiff. "I'm afraid you're going to have to..."

Isane backed up to him and bent. He draped himself over her, and her heart nearly broke when he involuntarily groaned while pulling himself up onto her back.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Stiffening," was all the answer Ukitake-taichou gave. He settled and after one additional painful sounding breath said, "I'm ready."

They headed back, toward the hungry reiatsu, and Isane braced herself before she took a shunpo step back within its range. This time she felt the intensity of its regard turning on her as she came close.

"Go, Isane," Ukitake said tersely. "It's bigger now."

Feeling the shard following her, Isane turned and moved back in the direction of the deer. She felt much as she had for the ancient tree, but she was entirely willing to sacrifice anything other than another of her Captains.

Never again.

When Isane sped by the feeding deer, she startled it into flight. A young buck, antlers still spring buds, a few faded white spots speckling dark flanks. For a step, then two, they fled the Hollow together. Then she used shunpo, and led the animal by just enough.

The bleating cry the animal made when the shard took it made Isane stumble, but a quick hug from the man on her back gave her enough courage to catch her balance. When the hollow behind them paused to absorb the deer, she stopped, turning back to look. By the wavering moonlight, the darkness flowed over the startled, struggling animal and took its shape. Isane felt Ukitake-taichou's grip relax, the thin body's tension easing. The deer stood, shook itself, looking as dark as a moonless night, and Isane's relief nearly buckled her knees.

Then the deer trembled, gave another more piercing cry, and collapsed in on itself.

The amorphous blob of blackness writhed against dead grasses, and they turned to ash before the midnight mass gathered itself, solidified, and the now human form, broad and bearded grunted and levered himself up onto bony legs and feet. Isane gasped in horror at the empty skull, the black eye sockets, the wisps of unholy mist streaming from bone white orifices.

Ukitake-taichou snarled in Isane's ear, and then he bit out the spell for the Six Rods Prison of Light. The spell burst from him, and slender beams of light pierced the mid-section of the walking Hollow, rendering it immobile. Ukitake-taichou slumped against Isane's back.

"Run, Isane," croaked Ukitake-taichou.

And Isane ran.

That was when the streamers of power arrowed toward them from the city. One an insect of adamantine, the other of diamond air. Two figures bounding in huge steps of shunpo that Isane couldn't even fathom having the strength to do anymore.

\---  



	38. Ichigo: No Hiding Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I ran to the rock to hide my face, and the rock cried out, no hiding place. -- by incandescens

**ICHIGO: NO HIDING PLACE**

  


Ichigo wasn’t used to this way of doing things. He still found it hard to believe that Ikkaku was actually in favour of it, and that Grimmjow – Grimmjow cooperating with the shinigami, that was another unlikely thing – was going along with it. They were being quiet. Stealthy. Secretive. Positively _sneaky_.

(All right, so Yoruichi had wanted them to be sneaky right back when they were breaking into Soul Society to rescue Rukia, but she hadn’t seriously expected them to manage to stay quiet and avoid fights, had she?)

(That seemed like years ago.)

There were places in his memory like strained muscles or open wounds. He was afraid to touch them, to think about them, because some hidden line of knowledge told him that if he did, they would hurt very badly. He had never thought of himself as a coward before now, but he was afraid of what he might learn. What had happened to . . . to everyone except Inoue. Ikkaku had told him the bones of it, but he didn’t want to see more than that. He remembered the pieces of it like facts read in a book: pieces like _Ikkaku said I left Chad to be broken_ rather than remembering Ikkaku saying that he’d left Chad to be broken.

There were questions that he knew he should want to ask, but he flinched away from them because of the answers.

Inoue and Nanao had done something to the door and got it open. He hadn’t met Nanao before, apart from seeing her standing around the place behind one of the Captains, but clearly she was the sort of shinigami who was good at kidou.

(Like Rukia.)

That was good. It was useful having someone on the team who was good at kidou, he thought with a desperate firmness. It meant they could sneak up on Aizen rather than have to break everything down to get at him. Even though he still wasn’t very keen on the sneaking option, he could at least be in favour of the get to close range first option.

Though all this was assuming that the sneaking option worked when there were a _dozen_ of them trying to be sneaky. Seriously. Did they really think that Aizen wasn’t going to hear them coming when there were twelve of them marching down the corridor – well, ten of them tiptoeing down the corridor with Ikkaku out in front and Yumichika bringing up the rear, and . . .

A growl echoed down the corridor from somewhere ahead of them.

Ikkaku reappeared at Ichigo’s side, his sandalled feet silent on the smooth off-white floor, and gestured back, and to the right. His face was tense, and Ichigo knew better than to ask out loud, _What is it?_ He nodded, picked up Inoue, and flash stepped back to the turning on the right that they’d just passed. Nanao and Lisa were half a step behind him, carrying Sora between them, and the others followed in silence.

Yumichika was standing there. His eyes narrowed as he saw them coming, but he waved them past him, waiting for Ikkaku to rejoin the group before retreating into the corridor with them. They ran perhaps fifty metres down it, till the corridor turned on itself in a hairpin bend, and paused to wait there. The stone which this place was built of cut down on all reaitsu-sensing anyhow, but Ichigo pulled his own reiatsu in even tighter than he already had been doing, and he guessed that the others were doing the same.

 _What was it?_ Ichigo tried to communicate to Ikkaku, with meaningful gestures and eyebrow waggling. He’d put Inoue down, but she stayed next to him, one hand on his shoulder as though she was afraid that he’d vanish.

Ikkaku glanced at Nanao and Hisagi and Yumichika, checking that he had their attention. He made a few quick gestures at the other shinigami, and they nodded as if they understood, then turned slightly towards Ichigo. _Big_ , he gestured, spreading his arms. The next gesture might have been either _Hairy_ or _Crested_ or _Crowned_ or _Weird hat_ , but the final gesture was probably _Teeth_. Or possibly _Tyrannosaurus Rex_.

Nanao nodded to Ikkaku, looking dubious. She spread her hands in a what-do-we-do-now sort of way.

Ikkaku nodded back, and put his finger to his lips, then mimed violent action. Yumichika nodded.

Right. So if it didn’t come after them, then they were fine, and if it did, they jumped out on it and killed it. Ichigo could do that.

 _Killing it_ , something at the back of his mind suggested, in a definitely-not-your-inner-Hollow, don’t-look-at-me-like-that, I’m-just-saying way, _would be a kindness to it. Whoops. I mean releasing it, don’t I? Releasing. That’s the right word. That’s what we do to Hollows and everything like them. Whatever they are. Whoever they are._

The urge to ask the others exactly what had _happened_ when he was – when he wasn’t himself – came over him like a physical sickness, and he had to bite it back, his teeth clenching in his lower lip.

He felt Inoue’s hand tighten on his shoulder, and turned to smile at her reassuringly. There was a near-panic in her eyes as she looked at him, staring into his eyes searchingly.

 _Relax,_ he tried to communicate in the dead silence. _I’ll be okay._ He jerked his lips into a smile, tasting blood in his mouth. _I’m all right, Inoue. Don’t cry._

But she wasn’t crying this time. She was watching him in deadly earnest, as if she thought she could stop him if he tried to do something that she disagreed with. It wasn’t Rukia’s air of I-will-slap-you-silly-if-you-do-something-stupid.

(He wouldn’t be seeing Rukia again.)

Finally Ikkaku moved again. He gestured unnecessarily for everyone to stay quiet, and ghosted to the bend in the corridor to peer around it.

Nothing.

They began to move again, creeping along the corridor, along the off-white floor, beside the off-white walls, a million miles from Karakura.

Ichigo had never been so desperate to be home.

Especially when he thought about what Ikkaku had told him a quarter of an hour ago.

\---

“Can we talk?” Ichigo said to Ikkaku. He tried to make it subtle and quiet, he honestly did, but there was only so subtle and quiet you could be when there were a dozen people milling around in front of the doorway to Aizen’s labs and whispering to each other.

Grimmjow and Hanatarou and Hisagi had just got back from their bit of corridor. Hanatarou was helping that guy they’d said was from Sixth, and both of them were injured. The little Arrancar was trailing along behind Hisagi, looking at him half the time with big dubious eyes, and looking over her shoulder the rest of the time. There was no sign of the other Fourth Division shinigami.

“Just a moment,” Ikkaku said. He pushed forward. “Oi!” It was more of a hiss than a shout, but it got Hisagi’s attention. “Where’s Smiley?”

“Smiley?” Hisagi said, looking blank.

“Ogidou’s dead,” the Sixth Division man said, very flatly. He glanced at Hisagi, who had his mouth pressed together tighter than Ichigo had ever seen on him before, then back to Ikkaku. “He died in battle. But Kurotsuchi Nemu is dead as well.”

Ikkaku frowned. “What do you mean? Hanatarou said –“

Nanao turned away from what she’d been doing at the door to pay attention, and Hanatarou said something about clones and original sources, and the whole thing degenerated into a babble of argument and stuff about zanpakutou that Ichigo didn’t know about and didn’t _care_ about. He felt a bit guilty about not feeling worse about Ogidou, but he hadn’t even known the man.

He was more worried about the people that he should be feeling guilty about. Rukia. Ishida. Renji. Chad. All of them.

“What did you want to ask him?” Inoue asked. She was still looking pale and sweaty, though not as bad as she had been. “If it’s...” She trailed off uncertainly. “I mean, if it’s about something that happened while you weren’t _really_ here, I mean, not as you yourself –“

“Nothing like that,” Ichigo lied. Of all people, he couldn’t ask _her_. He couldn’t make her tell him what had happened to all the people who came to save her. He couldn’t bear the look in her eyes as she blamed herself. “It’s a fighting thing.”

“Oh. All right.” She frowned up at him, brows pressed together. “But if it’s a fighting thing, perhaps you could ask Yumichika?”

“Perhaps you could indeed,” Yumichika said, sliding his way into the conversation. He shook back his hair. “I assure you that I am at _least_ as competent as Ikkaku on ‘fighting things’.”

“Bullshit,” Ikkaku said, stalking back to join them. “If you had been, then you’d have been third seat. Moron. Kurosaki, come walk with me a few steps down the corridor. That way we’re not going to ruffle the ears of any of these ‘experts’ who need to ‘concentrate on their kidou’.”

Nanao sniffed as she walked past them, back towards the door. Hanatarou trailed her limply. “Inoue, here, please,” she said crisply. “I need your attention. I think we almost have it.”

“Okay,” Ikkaku said when they were twenty yards or so down the corridor. Ichigo glanced back over his shoulder, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them. “What is it?”

“I...” Ichigo rubbed at his forehead. “Look. I don’t remember the last few months. Any of it. I remember fighting Zaraki, and then I remember waking up now when Orihime healed me. I don’t know what happened to the others. Look, call me whatever the hell you want, but just tell me. What _happened_?”

Ikkaku frowned at him. It wasn’t an unkind frown, not even as aggressive a frown as Ichigo remembered, but it didn’t make Ichigo feel any better. “Shit. You don’t remember anything at all? Not even, you know, bits of it?”

“No.” Ichigo’s voice fell to a hiss. He wanted to shout, to hammer his fist against the wall, but he knew that he had to, _had_ to keep control. “Please. Just tell me, all right? Are they prisoners?”

“Sado was.” Ikkaku shifted his weight. “Hisagi smuggled him out, along with Grimmjow. Inoue Orihime healed his Hollow-ness or whatever. You know, like cleansing him with a good sword strike to the head, only no sword. Sado had been a prisoner here for months. He’s in Seireitei now, with Shiba Kuukaku. He’ll heal.”

Ichigo was beginning to nod, but then the fact that Ikkaku had only named one person hit him. “The others?” he said, his lips numb.

“Kuchiki Rukia died,” Ikkaku said. He didn’t try to soften it. “Hanatarou said that they did something to her, Aizen and his people. Warped her. He saw her brother –“ He frowned. “He saw Kuchiki-taichou cleanse her. And then he killed himself.”

Ichigo turned aside, unable to say anything. It didn’t make sense. Rukia couldn’t be dead. She _couldn’t_ be. Hadn’t her brother been able to save her? Was that why Byakuya had killed himself?

He could understand that, perhaps. Yes. He could understand that.

“The Quincy died, too,” Ikkaku said. “Sado heard as much. Inoue confirmed it. Renji... We don’t know about Renji. Aizen has prisoners, deeper in. Maybe he’s there.”

But the words had a hollowness to them, and Ichigo knew that Ikkaku didn’t really believe it. “Renji wouldn’t have been taken prisoner,” he said. It was easier to argue about it like that than to think about the corollary.

“Fuck, you don’t exactly get to pick and choose,” Ikkaku snarled. “You think I’d _want_ him to be a prisoner here? For months? You think I’d wish that on anyone?”

Ichigo tried to think of names, any other names to ask about. He needed something to distract him from the growing thundercloud in his head, like a headache but warmer and softer, a hotness like an infected wound. “Yamamoto,” he said. “You know. The old guy.”

“Dead,” Ikkaku said. “He died at Karakura. A lot of them did.”

“Toushirou.”

“Missing. Dead, maybe. And Matsumoto too.” Ikkaku shook his head. “Shit. You really have been out of it.”

Ichigo wanted to snap back _it wasn’t my choice_ , but he was horribly, dreadfully afraid that on some level it had been. He tried to think of other names. “That healer woman. Unohana.”

“She surrendered.” Ikkaku shrugged. “I’ll make it quick, Kurosaki. She surrendered to save Seireitei. Ichimaru’s in charge there now. Ukitake-taichou and Soi Fong-taichou are still with us. They’re leading an attack on Seireitei now. Right now. We’re hitting Aizen while they hit Ichimaru, and Urahara and Yoruichi are holding Karakura. If we get this right, then their whole house of cards goes down.”

It was like reaching out for a support that he’d been expecting, and finding nothing there. Seireitei had been strange to him, and the Gotei 13 had been enemies before they were friends, and yet they’d been _permanent_. They’d been _real_.

“What happened to the Vizards?” he asked, forcing the words through numbness. “You know. Like Lisa.”

“Hnh. Not surprised you got to know them.” Ikkaku shrugged. “You could ask Yadomarou, I suppose, but -- Aizen attacked their place after he was finished in Karakura. Muguruma and Kuna, they’re still with us. They’re in Karakura with Urahara, at his shop. Otoribashi’s with them too, but he was badly hurt. Hirako and Sarugaki died.” The names came out like a fiction, like an impossibility. Ichigo knew these people. He’d trained with them. He’d learned from them. “Yadomaru got taken prisoner along with Aikawa and Ushoda. Ichimaru killed Aikawa. Ushoda’s still a prisoner, probably somewhere further in.”

“My dad. My sisters.” Ichigo shouldn’t have left them till last, he knew he shouldn’t have, but he’d thought that they would have to be all right, that nothing could touch them in Karakura, and now it was being thrown in his face that yes, Karakura could be touched, everything could be touched, and nothing was safe. “Tatsuki, Mizuiro, Keigo – you met Keigo, Ikkaku –“ Another name struck him. “Yachiru, that little girl, I remember she was there when I was fighting Zaraki –“

“Keep it together, Kurosaki.” Ikkaku reached out to grab his arm. His fingers hurt, but it helped, it was something to distract Ichigo. “Keep it together. Your family’s safe. Your dad’s looking after them. That mod soul’s there too. They’re safe, all of them. And Urahara’s in Karakura, him and Shihouin Yoruichi. Anything tries to poke around up there, they’ll take it to pieces. I need you focused here and now, Kurosaki. You hear me?”

He didn’t mention Yachiru, and Ichigo couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

“You hear me?” Ikkaku repeated. He pulled Ichigo closer, glaring at him. “Come on, Kurosaki, open your fucking mouth. The word I want is yes, all right?”

“I should be in Karakura,” Ichigo said. How could his father be expected to keep his sisters safe? And why should he trust Urahara or Yoruichi? He’d trusted the shinigami, and look what had happened to them all. ”There has to be some way –“

“Oh, _screw_ that,” Ikkaku snarled. “The Inoue girl’s got more sense than you. You know something? She’s got more _guts_ than you, too. She’s been here as a prisoner for months now, knowing exactly what was going on, but is she standing next to you going boo hoo I want to get back to Karakura? No, she’s over there with Ise getting the door open so we can go beat Aizen’s head in. You telling me that you’ve got less nerve than her, Kurosaki?”

There was a furious anger dancing in Ikkaku’s eyes, and Ichigo was about to answer just as rudely, just as viciously, but then he saw something else. A calculating turn to Ikkaku’s mouth. The fact that Ikkaku was standing in a half-defensive stance, ready to block an impulsive blow.

Ikkaku was deliberately trying to provoke him. And it wasn’t hard to guess why.

“Drop it,” he said bitterly. “I’m not going to – to do _that_ again. And I’m not going to try and get out now. You don’t need to shame me into anything. I can do that just fine by myself.”

Ikkaku squeezed his arm and released him. “Yeah, well, that’s a good fucking thing, because next time I need to talk some sense into you, I’m going to let Boy Blue over there do it.” His nod towards Grimmjow made it clear who he was talking about.

“Him? No damn way. I’ve fought that guy.” Ichigo twitched at the memory.

“Yeah, well, you have all the fucking luck,” Ikkaku said, cheerfully ignoring Ichigo’s glare. “Now next step is, we go through that door, and we see if we can find any prisoners before we go kick Aizen’s head in. You with us, Kurosaki?”

_This isn’t cleansing Hollows. This isn’t fighting to protect someone in front of me who needs protecting. This is agreeing to go and kill someone._

“Yes,” Ichigo said. “I’m with you.”

\---

The next encounter was different.

They’d retreated back around another corner at Ikkaku’s signal, and waited there while he checked. A few moments later, he returned, and beckoned Nanao to come with him, and then Hanatarou as well.

There was a faint, distant murmuring.

Ichigo gave it five minutes, then inched back out into the corridor to see what was going on. After all, there hadn’t been anything to suggest it was an Arrancar about to attack.

He blinked to see a perfectly normal shinigami. The woman – a stranger, not someone he knew – was moving down the corridor at a steady pace, calm and blank, her face distracted. Her hair was clipped short and brushed harshly back, and her uniform wasn’t quite right. It looked as if she’d put it on but only bothered to make sure that the front crossed and that it was all tied in place, but without the normal touches of someone who wants to look smart or even tidy. There was a collar round her neck like the one round Hanatarou’s.

Ikkaku and Nanao and Hanatarou were following a few steps behind her, talking quietly. Hanatarou made a pleading gesture, extending his hands.

“Today I have to give the vaccinations,” the woman said.

Ichigo flinched, not sure how to reply, but then he realised she wasn’t speaking to him. She wasn’t speaking to _anyone_. She didn’t even pause in her progress down the corridor.

“Yeah,” Ikkaku muttered, keeping his voice down. “Look, Hanatarou, I agree with you that it’s a fucking atrocity, but if we try to stop her, what if she gives an alarm?”

“It wouldn’t be her choice,” Nanao put in. “She’s clearly suffering from some sort of programming.”

“But we have to _try_ ,” Hanatarou said. He looked on the brink of tears. “Inoue Orihime can try to do something, can’t she?” He looked between Ikkaku and Nanao, “Please, even if isn’t just a matter of simple healing, just think of what she might know about Aizen’s layout here –“

Nanao frowned. “Inoue might know her own capacities better than we would.” She glanced at Ichigo. “Kurosaki, please will you fetch Inoue? And please tell the rest to stay where they are for the moment? Just to move out of the way if Madoka here walks past. She doesn’t seem to recognise anything or any of us.”

Ichigo felt just a twitch of annoyance at being treated as a convenient errand-boy, but suppressed it. He whisked back in a couple of flash steps to find the others all about to follow him around the corner.

“What’s going on?” Grimmjow hissed.

“It’s a shinigami,” Ichigo reported. “I think she’s been brainwashed somehow – Nanao said her name was Madoka,” he quickly added, seeing Yumichika and Hisagi and the guy from Sixth all about to say something. “Hanatarou knows her, I think. Nanao wants me to fetch Inoue to look at her. She says everyone else is please to stay here –“ The _please_ was an afterthought. “And if this woman walks past, don’t interfere, she doesn’t seem to be noticing us.”

Looking pale, Inoue stepped forward. “I’ll do what I can,” she said softly. “But...”

“If you can do anything, I know you will,” Ichigo said reassuringly. He picked her up, and skimmed down the corridor back to where the others were. They’d only advanced twenty yards or so. Madoka walked slowly.

“Oh!” Inoue’s hand went to her mouth. “The poor thing! Let me look at her.” She scrambled out of Ichigo’s grasp, running forward to peer at Madoka, walking alongside her.

Several paces later, she said, “I can’t see anything that’s been done to her physically, but I suppose that if it’s mental brainwashing, it wouldn’t necessarily show, would it?”

“I don’t think so,” Hanatarou said. “Madoka-san... she was one of the people who got taken away for experiments.” His glance down the corridor, towards where all the others were waiting, was too casual and mild to be an accident. “But if she’s alive –“

“I can try to heal her,” Inoue said slowly. “I can try.” Her face brightened. “And then –“

“Just a moment.” Ikkaku was scowling. “Inoue-kun, if you do this, how big a production’s it going to be?”

“Er... I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t usually keep track of things like that.”

“Which means it might alert someone if we do it right here in the middle of the corridor, and we don’t know how she’ll react if we move her somewhere else.” Ikkaku turned to Hanatarou. “Look, I fucking _swear_ we’ll come back after we’ve taken Aizen down, all right? I understand, I really do understand –“

Hanatarou was shrinking in on himself, eyes wide and dark, nodding gently, so gently. “Yes, Third Seat Madarame, I understand.”

Ikkaku grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. “Will you damn well swear at me or try to hit me or something, don’t just _look_ at me like that! You know why we can’t risk it!”

“Please don’t do that to me, Third Seat Madarame,” Hanatarou whispered. His hands came up to bat at Ikkaku’s, feebly trying to push him away. “I do understand, really I do.”

“I –“ Ikkaku started.

“It’s not as if we could save Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou, either.” Hanatarou said. He took a deep breath. “We’ll come back later. Fourth Division doesn’t abandon its own.”

Ikkaku let go of him, turned, and slammed his fist into the wall. His knuckles left a streak of red against the off-white.

“Kurosaki,” Nanao said sharply. “Go and tell the others they can join us. Avoid Madoka. Madarame, please get back on point. Madoka must have been coming from somewhere: there may be danger close ahead. Inoue-kun, wait with me for the others. Now. “ She clapped her hands together sharply, but the noise didn’t carry in the corridor, it died and was lost.

Ichigo didn’t want to get involved in the confrontation. He could see the logic behind leaving the woman alone for the moment, even if he didn’t like it. He nodded to Nanao, and dashed back (why was he running all the errands, _again_?) to tell the others.

The group crept on. White corridors. They coiled around on each other, and the whole place buzzed with killing stone. The metaphysical stink of it crept into Ichigo’s lungs and stomach until he wanted to spit.

Then Ikkaku reappeared. The blood on his knuckles had dried, and he had that crazy grin of his that Ichigo hadn’t seen for what felt like months. “Hey, Ise, people. Guess what I’ve found?”

Nanao gave him a frosty glare. “Do tell us, Madarame.”

“I’ve found a spy-room.” He sing-songed the words, bouncing from foot to foot. “And you know what? It’s where Ichimaru used to hang out.”

The little female Arrancar twitched nervously, stepping behind Hisagi.

“How do you know that?” Ise demanded.

“Because there’s a bowl of dried-up persimmons right next to the big chair with all the screens in front of it.” Ikkaku smirked. “You tell me who else down here would eat them.”

“And you’re sure it’s clear?” Nanao probed.

“Unless you-know-who’s already diddled my eyes and is convincing me that I’m talking to you and telling you all this,” Ikkaku said. “In which case we’re already screwed.”

Everyone looked at each other nervously.

“You’re not,” Ichigo said confidently. “I mean, I can hear you saying that – that is, you can hear _me_ saying that to you, right? I mean ...” He trailed off, trying to think of some sort of one hundred per cent way of getting around the problem of Aizen’s shikai.

“As a reliable third party, there has been no sign of Aizen yet,” the shinigami from Sixth said. He folded his arms and sniffed. “Assuming you can hear _me_ say that.”

“Let’s just assume that it’s real and go look,” Hisagi said, shouldering through the group. “I never got to see it, but I know Ichimaru had some sort of spying room. That’d be it.”

After a little bit of undignified shuffling around in the doorway while deciding who was going in first, the whole group piled into the room. It was very bland. There was indeed a bowl of persimmons. There were a couple of chairs, huge padded things, and a wall of screens, and a lot of controls. The screens seemed to be active, but were all showing bare corridors.

“There is a lock on the door,” Nanao said, investigating. “But why leave it unlocked? It doesn’t fit the usual paranoia-security pattern.

“I suspect it’s because nobody else would have come here, Ise-fukutaichou,” Yumichika said. He was looking around, but with a reserved, judging air, as though he was about to declare the whole decor inartistic and positively tacky. “If only Aizen, Tousen, and Ichimaru had access to this part of Las Noches, and if any of them could use this room – and we know that Ichimaru did – then why bother to lock this particular room? Aizen’s own private workrooms might be different, but this room is probably common ground.”

Nanao thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “I believe you’re right, Ayasegawa. Thank you.”

Yumichika nodded, with a casually gratified air. “I can tell you that even Harribel –“ He bit back something. “She was never permitted in here.”

“And I sure as dammit wasn’t,” Hisagi snapped. He prowled up and down in front of the controls. “Anyone got any sort of idea how to use these?”

“If this area _was_ common ground to the three of them, and it was left unlocked, then it stands to reason that the controls should be basic and straightforward,” Nanao said firmly. “Let me try.”

While she was fiddling with the controls, with Lisa and Yumichika hovering over her shoulders to offer advice, Inoue pressing several buttons ‘because they looked like they would do focusing things’, and even Grimmjow, of all people, making suggestions, Ikkaku beckoned Ichigo and Hisagi aside. “Look, I’ve had a thought.”

“What’s that?” Hisagi said. “That we’re taking too long? Because I’ve had that one too.”

Ikkaku turned to glare at Hisagi. “Keep it under control, man. But yes, that’s part of it. I’m thinking there’s too many of us. And this is a nice tidy room with a door that can be locked, where nobody’s going to come looking without a reason.”

Ichigo looked around at the rest of the group, trying to make it non-obvious. “But is it sensible to split up?”

“Hell yes,” Hisagi said, before Ikkaku could do it. “It’s safer than taking some of these people further into enemy territory. Hoshibana, he’s hurt, and the more energy Inoue Orihime spends healing everyone now, the less she’ll have later. Pagally’s going to get cut down the first time we meet anyone who’s serious about killing her. And the Inoue boy – don’t make me laugh. They’d all be safer in here than they would out there with us.”

Ichigo had to agree with that. “And if we leave Inoue Orihime with them –“ he started.

“Oh fuck no,” Ikkaku said. “Don’t give me that. We need her out with us. And what even makes you think that she’d stay here if you told her to?”

“I’m not taking her into danger!” Ichigo nearly shouted. “All of this in the first place –“

“All of what?” Inoue said, coming up behind him and making him choke and bite his tongue.

“Inoue, you’d like to stay back here and guard the others, wouldn’t you?” He gave her an encouraging look. _Go on, go on, say it and make it obvious to the others..._

“Well, of course I’d like to.” She put her fists on her hips. “But you’re going to need me to help stop Aizen, aren’t you?”

“Ten out of ten for the bloody obvious,” Hisagi said. “Now we’ve got that settled –“

“No we haven’t,” Ichigo said desperately. He’d already lost Rukia, Renji, Ishida, nearly lost Chad... He couldn’t lose Inoue as well. “If we leave people behind here then they won’t be _safe_.”

“It may have escaped your notice, Kurosaki, but nowhere here is safe.” Lisa strolled over to join the group. “And can I suggest that next time you want to have a secret discussion about leaving people behind, you do it more than ten feet away from everyone else?”

Ikkaku muttered something in which the word “Kurosaki” was audible.

“Now.” Lisa pointed a finger at Ichigo. “Inoue wants to come with us. We want Inoue to come with us. What part of this is not clear?”

Ichigo looked around for someone who must surely see his point of view. “Sora –“ he started.

Inoue Sora wouldn’t look at him. “You’ll take care of her, sir?” he said to Ikkaku.

“Like she was my own baby sister,” Ikkaku promised. His mouth twisted as if he’d bitten into something sour.

“Kurosaki...” Inoue put her hand on Ichigo’s arm. “Please. I’m not doing this because I want to. I’m doing this because we have to stop Aizen, and because if I want to save you, if I want to save anyone, then we have to get to the root of this. I’m not trying to be proud and saying that you can’t go out to fight without me. But if you do go out to fight, and if you lose because there was something which I could have done, and I wasn’t there to do it, well, won’t you feel ...” She chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully, looking for the right words. “Rather stupid?”

“Yeah,” Hisagi said. “That’s a pretty fucking good way of putting it. We’d feel rather stupid.” He looked at Ichigo, a challenge in his eyes. “Well?”

Ichigo felt a rising, responding fury burning in his stomach. _Slap him down_ , it suggested. _All of them. How dare they stop you protecting her? You ought to –_

Cool. Calm. He had to stay calm. He looked inside him for the source of that little voice, and found a suspicious emptiness, as if the speaker had sidled away quietly and taken the actual root of the anger with it.

He took a long breath. “All right,” he said. “Then who stays here?”

“Hoshibana,” Ikkaku said, ticking the names off on his fingers. “Pagally. Inoue Sora. I want Hanatarou with us in case we need a healer, and because he knows the Fourth Division business – sorry, Hanatarou, that’s how it blows.”

“That’s all right,” Hanatarou said quietly. “If Inoue-san can just look at my arm before we leave the room –“

“Sure, sure, see to it.” Ikkaku waved at Inoue. “Do your thing, girl, but make it quick and don’t use more energy than you have to. Right. Everyone else goes on.”

“There’s a problem,” Hisagi said. “If you leave them here, Hoshibana and Inoue Sora, then everyone here otherwise has seen Aizen’s shikai.”

“I haven’t,” Ichigo said firmly.

“Well, you don’t _think_ you have,” Hisagi said, as if this was something that only a toddler would need to have pointed out to them.

“I think I have a solution,” Nanao said.

Everyone turned to look at her.

She dusted off her fingers needlessly. “The controls are fairly simple. Probably to make allowance for Ichimaru’s lack of kidou expertise. It was never one of his stronger points, theoretically, or at least that was what Kira used to say when we were discussing kidou: he was more of a brute force practitioner... In any case, whoever gets left here will be able to follow our progress on the screens, and there are facilities to allow remote-voice broadcast and topographical adjustment. _Anyhow_ , if Hoshibana and Inoue use the visuals to follow our progress, and they see Aizen in our vicinity, they can immediately broadcast some sort of pre-agreed code to tell us that Aizen is nearby. Since Aizen will not know to expect that, we should at least have that warning before our perceptions are affected. And let us be honest, please. If Aizen _was_ present and attacking us, the first thing that he would do would be to take out the people who hadn’t seen his shikai, and then convince us that they were still present.”

“This doesn’t look good for us fighting Aizen in the long term anyhow,” Lisa said with a sigh. “Nanao-chan, you’ve gotten cynical in your old age.”

“I’m making plans for the moment,” Nanao said, her voice very definite, so definite that you could have used it to strip paint or put an edge on a sword. “If we can find prisoners or more information, then we can make _better_ plans. For the moment, this is the most efficient plan that I have. Madarame, do you agree?”

Ikkaku nodded. “Pretty good logic. So who works the controls?”

“Pagally,” Nanao said. “She has a good grasp of how to use them. I’ve just been showing her how to adjust the focussing and engage the auto-tracker remote... oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t look at me like that, it’s perfectly straightforward once you work from the basics.”

“Have you been able to see anywhere _interesting_?” Yumichika asked.

Nanao adjusted her glasses. “While we can’t scan the entire complex, two corridors along from here is a set of holding cells and a locked door. If I may suggest...”

“Hell yeah,” Ikkaku said. “Right! Everyone in order, we’re moving out in five minutes.”

\---  



	39. Ensemble: Crossfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a war that's being fought on two fronts, you don't want to be the one caught in the middle. -- by sophia_prester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter occur in parallel to events in Karin: At Bay and Grimmjow: Trauma.

**Ensemble: Crossfire**

  


Now

Just twenty minutes ago, Kon had thought with some smugness that it was turning out to be a _nice_ day. Cold (every day was cold, now) but nice. Nice, and shaping up to get even nicer.

That was twenty minutes ago.

Now something went _sproing_ in Ichigo's left ankle as Kon leapt not just one but two tall buildings in a single bound. A sharp _click_ came from the same place as he landed and rebounded into another jump.

Kon was aware there was pain lancing like a hot needle through his-- _Ichigo's_ \--ankle, but Ichigo's adrenal glands were so much in overdrive that it barely registered. Kon resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and kept running as fast as he could, never minding the damage that was accumulating in various joints and tendons.

Normally, Kon wouldn't push so hard--he and his late siblings had been designed to take over dead bodies, so overstraining bones and muscles probably hadn't been on the spec sheet--unless it was an emergency.

He was pretty sure that having _eight fucking hollows_ and a bunch of identical evil shinigami ladies (he used to have such _wonderful_ fantasies about twins, but now it was ruined, ruined forever...) chasing after him counted as an emergency.

Yeah, Ichigo might need knee surgery before he was thirty, but Kon didn't know of any surgery that could fix _disemboweled_.

Kon didn't look back, but as he bent his legs to propel himself to the roof of a mirror-glassed office tower he caught a glimpse of a dozen hideous reflections _gaining on him_ from behind.

"It's not faaaaaiiir!!!" he wailed as his next jump took him up and over.

His breath puffed out white as he pushed himself even faster. He just had to make it a little further... almost there... that was Isshin's and the Quincy doctor's reiatsu up ahead, good, good, and-- _fuck!_

Those weren't the only reiatsu signatures he recognized.

"Shit! Shit-shit-shit-shit- _shit!_ "

Karin was also there. So was Yuzu.

So were at least twenty more Hollows.

And here he was leading this batch of Hollows and creepy ladies straight towards them, and he had almost no time to turn.

 _Just twenty minutes ago I was at Mashiro's place,_ , he thought grimly as he braced for a sharp turn that would probably blow out at least one knee. _Just twenty minutes ago, I thought this was going to be a_ good _day._

* * *

Twenty minutes ago

The knocking at the shop's door increased in intensity, but no one at the kotatsu moved. They had all just gotten settled in after coming up from the cavern, and the kotatsu was nice and toasty.

Kensei glared at Mashiro, but Mashiro shrugged and pouted.

"I've got a cat on my lap," she explained.

Yoruichi was catloafing on Mashiro's lap, turned so that only her head was poking out from under the kotatsu's blanket. Her clothes sat in a pile by the kitchen door. She gave Kensei a slow blink that said she had no intention of giving up such warmth and comfiness.

"Fine, fine," Kensei snapped. "I'll get it."

He gave a hiss of pain as he shifted too much weight onto his absent leg.

"Don't be such a drama queen," Yoruichi drawled. "You know you're dying for something to do."

Kensei flipped her off as he pulled aside the plaid blanket that hung in the door to the shop.

The knocking continued, and Kensei yelled at whoever it was to keep his-or-her goddamn pants on. His missing leg felt like it was on fucking _fire_ , and he was in a foul enough mood as it was already.

It could have been worse, though. The phantom pain could simply be absent like it was yesterday, and the leg on his gigai would simply flop around like there was nothing inhabiting it at all.

He slammed the door open and came face to face with a disgruntled redhead.

"What the hell do you want?"

"What kind of customer service is _that_?" Kon groused. "Is Mashiro here?"

Kensei stepped aside to let Kon in. "Of course she's here." The _you moron_ was silent. Kon knew damned well Mashiro rarely left the shop, and only under heavy escort. Or with Kon, who didn't count as 'heavy' escort as far as Kensei was concerned.

"You know what I mean," Kon said. "Is she..." He held up his broken arm, and used the other hand to circle the cast around his wrist like a bracelet. "Uh, you know."

"She's stable and she's not locked up," Kensei said. He clapped a hand on Kon's shoulder before the boy could go into the shop. "Look. There's something I gotta tell you before you go in there."

Kon gave him a sour look. "We're just friends," he said petulantly and not very convincingly. "And she's one of the few people around here who's really _my_ friend and not Ich--"

Even though he cut the sentence short, Kensei knew what he was going to say.

"This's got nothing to do with that." He didn't exactly approve of the fact that Kon and Mashiro had been spending more and more time together over the past several weeks, but the fact that Kon had just jumped straight to that conclusion pissed him off. "Okay, maybe it does. Sort of, I guess, depending on how things turn out."

Kon's brows furrowed, and for a split second, he resembled Ichigo.

"We just sent a rescue crew through to Hueco Mundo. You missed 'em by about twenty minutes."

Kensei waited for a reaction, and he wasn't sure how to interpret what he saw flicker across Kon's face. The only thing that _wasn't_ there was anger that he had been left behind.

Kensei hadn't realized it was possible to feel disgust and envy at the same time.

"You... you didn't tell Karin, did you?" Kon asked, horrified.

"D'you hear her kicking down the door yelling at us to let her go in after them? Pfft. Of course we didn't tell her. And we're not going to." He looked Kon square in the eye. "Not yet, anyway."

Kon matched his gaze. It was an unusually intense look from him, but it didn't make him look any more like Ichigo. Kensei tried to remember the way those eyes looked when they were steely and stubborn rather than confused and soft. Somewhere right around the time winter should have ended, they had passed the point where Kensei had known Ichigo longer than he had known Kon.

"So... not until they come back and we know for sure what's happened to Ichigo? Yeah, that makes sense." Kon smiled nervously, then looked away and ruffled the back of his too-shaggy hair. "Then we'll get it all sorted out. Or something."

Kensei took a deep breath. From behind the blanket, Mashiro called out to ask if everything was okay, and why was he taking so long?

"Are you ready for what'll happen if Ichigo comes back?" Kensei asked, quiet enough that Mashiro couldn't overhear. He knew better than to try to soften things with a 'when' that had a good chance of being a goddamn lie.

Kon shrugged. He had his good hand jammed in his jeans pocket, and seemed unsure about what to do with the one in a cast. "I guess I'll have to be, and um..." He looked up from under his hair at Kensei. "Look, you guys know I'm not going to try to keep this if he comes back, don't you?"

Kon thumped his cast against his chest.

"Didn't think you would," Kensei snapped as he limped back to the door. Kon followed, and Kensei made a point of not mentioning what Mashiro had asked him as they had made their way up from the basement.

_Do you think Ichigo will want to go back to Soul Society with the others when they come back?_

If asked, Kensei would say the reason he wasn't all that keen on the friendship and maybe-more-than between Kon and Mashiro was that Kon was a premium-grade doofus and an even bigger pervert than Lisa.

The real reason was more complicated, and had to do with Kon being in a borrowed body, Mashiro being in a body that was eventually going to betray her the way Rose's betrayed him ( _yeah, and then one day it'll be all_ three _of us being monster-buddies down in the basement_ ), and Kensei didn't see any way this could end in anything but a big shit-pile of hurt.

Even 'just friends' was too much. If Kon saw it, he wasn't saying anything, and Kensei knew damned well that Mashiro didn't see it or was just plain refusing to see it.

Hell, every time Urahara came up with another lockdown for her mask, she was convinced this one would be the final fix.

So, he could be forgiven for scowling when they walked in and Mashiro's face lit up as she blurted out a joyful "Kon-ichi!"

Kon barely got his injured wrist out to the side and out of the way before Mashiro caught him in a gale-force glomp.

Yoruichi landed neatly atop the kotatsu after being launched, and after a few licks to her fur, her dignity was restored.

"Good to see you again, Kon. Now could at least _one_ of you sit down again--it's been a long morning, and I need my lap time."

Kon sat down, and Mashiro dashed off to the kitchen to get snacks--something she hadn't volunteered to do when it had just been her, Yoruichi, and Kensei.

"Grab me a beer, will ya?" Kensei called out after her. He leaned against the wall, figuring it wasn't worth the hassle of sitting down again just yet.

"So. Rescue crew," Kon said after a moment. Yoruichi had slipped into his lap and was getting her legs tucked under her. Kon absent-mindedly reached out to skritch her ears with his good hand. "You think they've got a chance? That maybe they'll bring back Nee-san and Orihime-chan and everyone else?"

Kensei shrugged. He heard Mashiro scolding Jinta about something back in the kitchen. "Dunno. Maybe." Inoue would be closely guarded, and he didn't know who this 'nee-san' was. Probably one of those shinigami who was after his time. He'd been told who was in the failed rescue group, but damned if he could remember any names besides Unohana-taichou's. "Couple of strong fighters in that group."

"Smart ones, too," Yoruichi added. "Smart and seasoned."

"Yeah. Like Inoue's little brother. I guess a year in the academy counts as _seasoned_ these days. How the fuck should I know? Anyhow, they were _smart_ enough to leave the dead wood and the misfits back here to sit on our asses and wait."

Kon blinked in surprise and Yoruichi's ears flicked back sharply, but Kensei wasn't going to stick around for the commentary.

"I gotta take a leak," he said. "I'll be back."

Kensei nearly lost his balance as he turned, but that didn't stop him from stalking out. Neither did the pain that felt like someone jabbing a railroad spike in the place where his real leg stopped and the gigai took over.

Halfway down the hall, he stopped to wipe away the sweat that had beaded all over his face. Today was _not_ a good day, and now the pain had decided to rub it in his face that he was no good to anyone anymore.

He took a deep breath and kept his fists at his side so he wouldn't do something stupid like hit the wall and skin open his knuckles. Yeah, he was a half-hollow teetering at the top edge of a not-so-long slide down into insanity, he was stuck in a gigai that divided its time between hurting like fuck and not working, and technically he had been dishonorably discharged, but he was still a Captain of the Gotei 13, and he would act like it, damn it.

If Lisa and maybe Love and maybe Hacchi came through this okay, it would be nice to have one shred of dignity left when he saw them again.

He slid the toilet door open and felt as much as heard Tessai rumble something in the back room. Yoruichi's voice rose from gruff feline to smoky human mid-sentence, and then there was a pounding of footsteps fading away. He paused for a moment, thinking he should head back to see what was going on, but the trip down the hall had been a _long_ one for all that it was just a few yards. Besides, he really did need to take a leak.

It looked like Ururu had recently scrubbed the place out as it was clean and there was a politely vague but still comprehensible little sign on the tank asking the gentlemen of the household to please take greater care when using the facilities.

Kensei tossed the sign in the trash and unbuttoned his fly.

Damn, but feeling the pressure let up in his bladder was almost as good as sex. Whatever was happening back in the shop could damn well wait until he was done here.

Except that something funny was happening to the water in the toilet. It started to glow pink, and before Kensei could do more than think _what the fuck was I drinking?_ the glow resolved into a line. The line began to rise up.

"What the hell?!"

It was the natural thing to say, but fortunately no one was around to hear the pitch he hit with that exclamation.

Kensei stumbled back hard, getting himself--and his dick--out of the way of whatever the hell that was.

The line became a sheet of swirling pink-and-red light that rose up and out of the water as inexorably as a shark or a million other things that had no business interrupting a man's piss. The last of the red faded to pink as the glowing... whatever... slid smoothly up out of the plumbing and through the ceiling.

Kensei got himself situated as quickly as he could, and staggered back down the hallway to the others, bump-scraping his shoulder against the wall to help keep the weight off his leg. If the shop was still standing after they'd dealt with whatever-this-was, he could apologize to Ururu for the mess then.

* * *

"You 'may possibly' have made a _mistake_?"

Of _course_ any non-admission of fault on Kisuke's part would be accompanied by as many disclaimers as possible.

Yoruichi didn't bother tying her robe closed. She just watched the gate slide upwards in a way Kisuke protested he had never, ever intended.

There was a faint _crackle_ as the spiritual grounding disconnected itself. The bottom of the gate lifted away from the floor as if it had been sliced free.

"There's no 'may possibly' about it, Kisuke!" Yoruichi didn't bother to restrain her reiatsu. If there was any justice, Kisuke should feel it crushing him like a bug.

If he did, he didn't show it. Kisuke shrugged and grinned as if nothing was wrong and a sheet of energy wasn't rising up through the ceiling. He had pulled his hat from his head and was turning it round and around in his hands. It was meant to look awkward and self-effacing, but the effect was ruined by the way he was backlit by the glowing red gate. He looked her square in the eye.

 _You know you'll forgive me,_ the look said.

She always had. She probably always would.

_You know I meant well, right?_

She wasn't sure she did know or not, but it was easier to give him the benefit of the doubt.

That didn't mean she wasn't pissed off with him, though. She took a deep breath, and forced her mind to the matter at hand.

"What kind of mistake are we talking about, here?" Matters of anger and forgiveness could wait. A malfunctioning--or sabotaged--gate couldn't.

Pink swirled in among the red, diluting it and overriding it. Even though the shades were similar in hue, the prickle at the back of her neck told her it had nothing to do with a shift in the amount of power in the gate. She knew what it meant, but two-and-two weren't quite coming together as quickly as she would have liked.

"Just a slight underestimation on my part." Kisuke had crouched down so he could look at the gate from beneath. He sounded distracted already. "Tessai did tell the others to get ready, didn't he?"

"He did." The fact that Kisuke didn't seem to be taking this seriously didn't mean she wouldn't.

"Good. I think we have at best two minutes before we have visitors. The gate will have to be entirely clear of the structure above before it can open."

"Who--" She narrowed her eyes, and watched as a swirl of familiar, bloody red vanished into a sea of medicinal pink. _Damn it_. It had been several months since she'd seen it, but she knew that color. "Kurotsuchi. It's Kurotsuchi, isn't it?"

"Very good!" Kisuke said gleefully, as if she'd just performed a particularly clever trick. He stood up straight and brushed his hands together. "Let's head upstairs, shall we? We don't have as much time to prepare as I had hoped, but the bright side is, if Kurotsuchi and his forces are here now, that means they're out of the way of our rescue team."

She nodded sharply, but rather than waiting for him to lead the way, she took off and flash-stepped up the stairs.

Strategies raced through her mind, were evaluated, sorted, and discarded. The crew at the Shoten could hold off Kurotsuchi, but they couldn't count on Kurotsuchi coming through alone. Ururu and Jinta had firepower but too little experience, Kon had speed but couldn't--or wouldn't--hold his own in a close fight, Kensei was only good for ranged attacks, Mashiro was as much a danger as she was an asset, and Tessai needed _time_ for the kind of kidou that could work against Kurotsuchi.

They didn't have much time, they didn't have much to work with, and they didn't know what to expect, but by the time she got back up to the shop, she had the beginnings of a plan. Yes, there would be variables--more variables than she could imagine--but she knew how to build plans that could expand or contract to account.

There was one thing, though, that bothered her.

She couldn't pin down the source of a nagging feeling. She knew what nagging feelings meant--she had noticed something, but she wasn't keeping up with her subconscious.

This one told her that whatever was about to come through that gate was the _least_ of the variables she had to worry about.

* * *

Mashiro seemed almost _happy_ about their orders to stand here on the fringes. She stood next to Kensei across the street from the Shoten, bouncing on the balls of her feet and hugging herself against the cold. She was grinning as if waiting for a party to start, but Kensei knew it was because she hadn't been allowed outside in nearly a week.

"It feels so good to finally be doing something, doesn't it?" she said. When she didn't get a response, she contorted herself so she was looking practically straight up his nostrils. She frowned. "Kensei..."

"We've got a job to do, Mashiro," he snapped. "Now keep an eye on that gate and stop chattering."

He was not in the mood to be chided for being a Mr. Cranky McGrumpypants.

To Mashiro's way of thinking, they were doing something.

To Kensei's way of thinking, standing on the perimeter to mop up any Hollows that went the wrong way wasn't doing much of anything.

But, he had to admit that Yoruichi had a point. _Someone_ had to keep the civilians safe if Yoruichi's seat-of-the-pants plan went south. At least they weren't a block further back with Jinta and Ururu. Kensei cast a glance over his shoulder at the two so-called children with their ridiculously large weapons.

Tessai was on the Shoten's porch, setting up wards with as much urgency as he would sweep away dead leaves. Kensei knew that Urahara and Yoruichi were somewhere in the nearby rooftops, at a level with the gate but out of sight. Kon was also up on the rooftops, but stood square with the gate right in plain sight.

He didn't look very happy to be there.

As for the gate itself, it had come to rest about fifteen feet above the Shoten. It shimmered and swirled, but nothing was coming through--yet.

They all had their roles to play in Yoruichi's plan. Tessai, Yoruichi, and Urahara would take care of the worst of the invasion. Kon was standing by, ready to draw off whatever they couldn't handle and get them off to the parklands and hopefully get Kurosaki Isshin's attention while he was at it.

That left him and Mashiro --along with the kids--on mop-up duty. He could pick off outliers easily enough with Tachikaze, but that wasn't fighting. It was target practice.

That was all he was good for any--

\--the thought stopped when he felt a prickle of reiatsu at the back of his neck. Hollows. Lots of Hollows. But not _here_.

"Oi! Urahara! We got more problems than this!" he called out, but it was lost in the chaos as as the gate exploded from pink into searing white.

* * *

Kon didn't remember much of what happened before he started running for his life. Monsters poured out of the gate, and kept _on_ pouring out, and then Yoruichi was telling him to _run_.

He was already running.

And today had looked like it was going to be such a _good_ day...

* * *

Yoruichi let out a hiss as she saw Kurotsuchi Nemu leap through the gate, along with two scorpion-patterned Hollows. One of them wore what look liked the remains of a shihakushou.

The hiss turned into a gasp when a second Nemu followed the first.

"Well, I wasn't expecting _her_ ," Kisuke said. "Either of her."

As Yoruichi leapt towards the first of the two Nemus, she started to realize what was bothering her about this whole thing.

Well, aside from what was now three Nemus and a dozen Hollows.

She yelled at Kon to run, and he did. Two Hollows followed him as he headed in the direction of Kurosaki Isshin's reiatsu.

The first Nemu was handily dispatched with a shunko-enhanced punch to the throat, but not before her fingernails gouged deep into Yoruichi's arm, tearing past skin into muscle.

Nemu shouldn't have been that good, she thought grimly, but another one of them had gone down to ground level, and was giving Mashiro a run for her money.

And the wound on her arm was starting to _burn_.

"Assume combat enhancements on Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou!" she called out to anyone who could hear. "Don't let them touch you!"

"Oi! Yoruichi!" Kensei was calling out, but she couldn't get to him right away.

Three more Nemus came through the gate and straight at her.

More Hollows, more Nemus were coming through the gate. How many more could there be? The next Nemu avoided the shunko blow to her throat a little too easily. Shared mind?

" _Kamisori, Benihime_."

Yoruichi recognized the command and was leaping out of the way even as it was spoken. A red flash of energy cut two Hollows in half. Further below, she heard the deep rumbling of Tessai's chanting.

Kensei was still yelling something down below, so she twisted mid-air and landed by his left side. "Report, Muguruma-taichou!"

They jumped back as Mashiro and her target came tumbling past, leaving a smear of blood across the pavement. It was hard to see what was going on, but Mashiro was covered in bone, and the Nemu was missing an arm.

Yoruchi steadied Kensei as he lost his footing. He snarled out something that wasn't thanks and launched a barrage of air blades to cut down a large, baboon-like Adjuchas.

"She's still in control," he snapped, anticipating her question. "There's other problems. Can you feel that?" he said, jabbing Tachikaze towards the center of town.

She could, now that she was away from the pressure of the gate.

"Another incursion! But we don't have time! There's too many--"

Except there weren't. Too many had taken off after the bait that had been meant to draw off only a few with the goal of bringing in more help. And there were _more_ Hollows out that direction. It was way too much for Kurosaki Isshin to handle alone.

"Oh, _hell_! Change of plans, Kisuke," she called out as she vaulted to the top of the Shoten. A Nemu nearly skewered her with an arm that was suddenly much too long, but she evaded. Her left arm was still on fire and she could tell that there was no way it would bear up under shunko.

"We'll be fine. Go," Kisuke said, almost too easily. He sounded more annoyed than anything. "Come on, come on, where are you..."

He wasn't talking to her. She knew what he was waiting for, but this was no time to confront him. She took off in pursuit of Kon.

* * *

There were too many monsters. More than when they started. Dozens of the nightmares surrounded the hospital, but new ones--not as nightmarish but just as scary--had come from somewhere.

Tatsuki still had to _think_ too much before adding that extra burst of energy that was not muscle-strength to her blows. All she could do was slow the monsters down until Kurosaki-san or Ishida-san cut them down. But Ishida-san's arrows were hitting almost at random.

She was drenched with sweat even though her breath came out in harsh white bursts. She couldn't hear Mizuiro's stupid gun anymore--he must have run out of bullets. Probably just as well. And where were Ichigo's sisters? Were they okay?

A few minutes ago, she thought she had actually _seen_ Ichigo, but she couldn't have, could she?

And then she thought she saw a bunch of shinigami--actual shinigami--in the middle of the fray, but it turned out they were just more monsters.

Tatsuki was fighting one of them now for the second time. It looked like the exact same woman--beautiful, but with a blank expression that was worse than a bone mask.

Whoever this girl was, she was _fast_ , and Tatsuki found herself hard-pressed to keep up. Despite her efforts she was getting herded into a too-open area in the middle of the street. She needed to turn the fight to where she could use the buildings to defend herself.

An arrow sizzled into the asphalt behind her. It distracted her opponent for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Tatsuki landed a blow to the woman's jaw that all but exploded and she finally _got_ what Soi-fong taichou had been trying to teach her this past few months. Explanation and demonstration becamehad become knowledge. Her next blow was a strike to the solar plexus that dropped the woman.

If she wasn't scared to death, she'd be jumping for joy.

"Arisawa-kun!"

The shout came only when she was in the clear. Shihouin-san landed in a crouch right beside her, then pulled her back into the defensive position she'd been aiming for.

"We've got to--whoops!" Whatever Shihouin-san was about to say was interrupted by three more of the gorgeous, freaky women.

Tatsuki was left to fend for herself against a monster that looked way too much like a cockroach for her comfort. An enhanced kick cracked its mask, but it wasn't enough to kill it. It was enough, however, to knock it back straight into the path of one of Ishida-san's random strikes.

"I think they're targeting me," Shihouin-san said from behind her, sounding way too smug about it. "I suppose I'm listed in their programming or something."

"What do we do now?" Tatsuki asked, and she hated how young she sounded.

There was the barest of pauses, and then Shihouin-san was barking orders. "You! Boy! You and your friend get out of here--"

Mizuiro started to protest, but Shihouin-san spoke over him.

"--and report back to Urahara what's going on here! The hospital is under attack, two different kinds of enhanced Hollows. Now, go!"

As soon as she barked that order, another woman attacked her head-on. Tatsuki was able to stop the one who tried to get her from behind.

"Thanks for getting them out of here," Tatsuki said. Mizuiro didn't know what he was doing, and Keigo could only be a target.

"I should probably tell you to get out of here, too," Shihouin-san said slowly. She looked quickly down the narrow lane after the retreating boys, then back at Tatsuki.

Tatsuki nodded. She understood. This was all too new. Even though she was finally getting it, she was still untried.

"But you're not going to."

Right now they needed every decent fighter they could get, no matter how green. The fallout from this fight was going to be spilling more and more into the civilian world if they didn't stop it soon.

"Stay safe," Shihouin-san told her. "I have one more thing to take care of. Stay to the perimeter, and help keep this mess contained--I think a few have already slipped past. Don't let any more get by!"

Then she was gone, faster than Tatsuki could follow.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, even though there was no one to say it to. Then she kicked another Hollow back into the center of the fray, where Kurosaki-san cut it down.

Another one of the women came at her with a strike meant to gut her, but a swift kick shattered the woman's arm. The next strike dropped her just as one of her sisters came in for the attack.

Tatsuki sent this one flying into a lamppost.

"Heh. So I'm finally worth noticing, huh? Good to know."

* * *

A glowing blue arrow nearly took Kon's head off as he jumped for the only Hollow-free rooftop in sight.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" he shrieked to the universe at large, but no one was listening. As usual.

Another arrow sailed past his head and landed way too close to Isshin--and to Karin and Yuzu. It was all too obvious that Isshin couldn't concentrate on clearing out the Hollows while he was looking after the girls. Even though it meant going back _towards_ the insanity, Kon knew what he had to do.

Kon hit the ground next to his family at the exact same time Yoruichi did. Blessed, beautiful, thank-god-she's-here Yoruichi.

"I'll get them out of here," he said at the exact same time that Isshin and Yoruichi snapped "Get them out of here!"

"I'll make sure no one follows you," Isshin said, looking him-- _him_ square in the eye, and Kon could tell there was a lot more he would like to say.

Kon nodded, grabbed the girls over Karin's protests, and took off.

* * *

Yoruichi held her breath as a blue arrow nearly took out Kon and the girls.

"I think the idiot's started firing at anything that moves," Isshin said, and Yoruichi could hear the grief in his voice.

"You don't blame him?"

There was no time to talk for a moment. Two of the Nemu-clones had closed in even as a leonine Adjuchas tried to catch Isshin in his jaws.

"I know what he's going through," Isshin said, unusually serious. The lion-hollow had been cut in two and was now falling to dust. "But I have my girls."

Yoruichi nodded, then flash-stepped off to take care of a trio of Kurotsuchi-clones who were targeting the hospital roof. If Ishida Ryuuken started to become more of a liability than an asset, she would address it quickly. She would not involve Isshin.

For the moment, though, Ishida was doing more to help them than not. He had halved the number of attackers all on his own.

But that didn't mean she could trust him. Now he was firing across the rooftops at something she couldn't see.

She couldn't trust _anyone_ , could she?

One of the three Nemus went down, her spine broken and exposed by an exceptionally vicious shunko blast, dead before she started the three story plummet to the roof of the ambulance bay. Yoruichi thought about the creature's so-called father as she went after its 'sisters.'

Kurotsuchi Mayuri.

She would have bet everything up to and including her very soul that was who Kisuke was waiting for.

A quick scan of the battle showed that nothing was chasing Kon and the girls. There were only seven more Hollows left, but two of them looked like they might be Vasto Lorde class--it was hard to tell. There were eight more of the Nemu-abominations. Five of them were headed straight towards her.

Kisuke had not been expecting this. But he had been expecting something. Maybe even before the rescue team had left.

And _he hadn't told her_.

How _dare_ he? Her anger informed her shunko, and the next Nemu was ripped clean in half by the energy blast.

She was covert ops. Her people literally lived and died by the flow of information. Kisuke knew this. He had always known this. And he had kept this from her!

Yoruichi roared with frustration as she threw the hyena-Vasto Lorde into the path of Isshin's sword. How typical, how arrogant of Kisuke to expect that Kurotsuchi Mayuri would only attack in _one_ place. This wasn't the first time Kisuke had done something like this.

It would be naïve of her to expect it would be the last.

She grabbed two of the Nemu by their hair mid-flash step and dragged them behind her as she jumped through a shop window. Her speed carried her past the broken glass left in her wake, but the two clones were--as she planned--not so fortunate. They learned quickly, so she had to keep thinking of newer and nastier tricks. There should be five more of them, but only two were in sight. Where were the others?

One answered the question for her by nearly taking a chunk out of her side. The other two--the other two were after Arisawa, damn it! And where were the Vasto Lorde? There had been two of them!

Yoruichi could see the rising fear on Arisawa's face as her opponents became more and more adept at countering her moves.

Yoruichi flash-stepped towards her, but the third Nemu kept pace, blocking her. A direct shunko blast was dissipated with a touch. A temple strike was evaded, and her momentum was turned against her, nearly dislocating her elbow.

The fight was winding down, but it wasn't over. It wasn't over until all of the enemy were dead.

She got her hand around the clone's throat. She felt the power building in her back and arm, giving her the strength to snap this monster's neck with one sharp squeeze.

Kurotschi Nemu's eyes went wide. Then her head fell back and she let out a piercing cry that went on and on and up and up.

Yoruichi hadn't even started to squeeze.

The cry cut short, and the clone went limp. The two that had been attacking Tatsuki fell at the same time. She didn't know what had happened, but she heard the sound of battle dying off behind her. Ishida's arrow blasts had stopped. Yoruichi looked up at the hospital roof. He was standing with a glowing arrow nocked and ready to fire at something in the distance, but then his head slumped forward and he let the arrow dissipate into nothing.

It was over.

She could only hope that Kisuke and Tessai had everything under control at the Shoten. Maybe this stupid stunt of his would work out in everyone's favor, just like his stupid stunts always did.

The sounds of battle stopped entirely. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Yoruichi!"

Her eyes snapped open. "Isshin? What's wrong?"

He was hunched over where Arisawa had been fighting.

Yoruichi flashed to his side. She hadn't seen Arisawa when the clones had fallen. She should have noticed. She should have--

"Stay with me, girl," Isshin said with the sort of calm he couldn't be feeling. Arisawa was curled up on the ground. Her face was ashy-pale and she was shivering, and Yoruichi saw the dark blood seeping through her shirt even though Isshin was applying reiatsu-pressure to try to stanch the chest wound.

Yoruichi was not surprised at how controlled she was as she leaned over to stroke Arisawa's hair and tell her to hang on, hang on, she didn't want to disappoint Ichigo by not being here when he got back, did she?

Arisawa was still conscious, and she met Yoruichi's eyes, and she was scared, so scared, and yet so proud. One of the Nemus had clearly died at her hands. The other had simply collapsed, and Yoruichi felt her heart lurch when she saw that the clone's arm was red up to the elbow.

"I'm staying right here," Yoruichi said, because it was the only thing she could say to Arisawa that she knew would not be a lie.

While she was not surprised at her control, she was surprised by the depth of her anger. This should not have happened.

She prayed everything would be okay, because she did not trust what she would do if it was not. All she could do was stay where she was and keep stroking Arisawa's hair until Isshin finally let the healing reiatsu go before reaching up to close Arisawa's eyes.

"It's over," he said.


	40. Ensemble: Sneaking About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group in Hueco Mundo go a little further into the corridors. This falls immediately after **Ichigo: No Hiding Place**. -- by liralenli and incandescens

**Ensemble: Sneaking About**

  
Kazeshini paced and hung on tightly to the silk bound hilt of... well... himself.

The Princess looked at the timid Fourth Division mouse. The others watched Madarame and Ise as if they were the last bit of sanity in the room, and Kazeshini could feel blue eyes burrowing into his back.

"What?" Kazeshini spun to confront, and rage beat like a wind-blown bonfire in Kazeshini's chest.

"Nothin'." Grimmjow stared back. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothin'. Just... fuckin' hate...." Kazeshini bit his tongue on the word _you_ , and his mouth tasted bitter with sleeping pills. The damned things worked just fine, and Shuuhei's mind was a limp wet cotton wad steaming in the heat of Kazeshini's fury.

Why the fuck couldn't he have gotten some shinigami soul willing to be everything they could be together? Why the hell did Kazeshini have to watch both their backs? Why was he alone when a freaking Arrancar had...

A howl rose from outside the observation room, a cry of such despair that the hairs on the back of Kazeshini's neck stood up. "The hell?" he bit out and looked up at the display screens.

Ise frowned as Pagally and Sora frantically flipped through controls. "There," she snapped. "Stop."

The flicker halted abruptly to show a hulking shadow.

"Zoom in closer."

The image shrank.

"The _other_ way."

It grew.

Ikkaku snarled from where he stood across the room.

It was big, whatever the hell it was, and made of patches. Scruffs of fur, angles of white Hollow bone, planes of shining scales, and bulges of bare muscle fitted together in all the wrong ways. It moved powerfully, but with a stutter-halt that might have been pain if it weren't so damned fast. It blurred away.

"There!" Pagally yelped, finger pointing at another screen.

"It's fast." Ayasegawa's musical voice sounded smug, and his slender frame two steps beyond the edge of the crowding shinigami. "Ugly but fast. You want to take it, Ikkaku?"

Ikkaku shifted, his weight rolling forward.

"No." Ise's voice came down as swift as a sword. "Leave it. Let it go by. We'll..."

"No!" It was the timid little medic, suddenly yelping like a kicked dog. "Madoka-san! No!!"

Sure enough, the mangled zombie woman was making her way across the passages toward the horror on the screen. Kazeshini smirked as he heard half a dozen blades click free of their scabbards. The swords' spirits flooded the room with intent and sudden sharp focus. Kazeshini was already unsheathed. It was such a joke.

If only _someone_ would laugh.

The woman kept on walking. The beast growled and crouched. Kazeshini leaned into his expectations of blood and death.

Nothing happened. The thing moved to the freaking side. It watched her continue her way down the corridor with a stillness that reflected fear or respect.

"What the hell?" Ikkaku asked the tense room.

The thing sprang away with another low cry, nails or talons scraping against stone. What horrified Kazeshini more, however, was how Madoka kept going at her mindless pace.

"If it comes on us while we're getting into that next section, I'm takin' it," Grimmjow growled right in Kazeshini's face. "It looks like a good fight."

Kazeshini stomped on the impulse to just cold cock the fucker. He'd gotten Shuuhei and himself through this far, he wasn't going to jeopardize both of them for some stupid blue-eyed idiot. No matter how juicy the fight.

"Go on then," Kazeshini said with silky menace.

Ayasegawa's cool voice suddenly mused. "Hisagi Shuuhei, dear, when in the world did you start to fear dying?"

Naming his full name awoke Shuuhei with a vengeance. Kazeshini panicked and dove into their inner world, the dusty Rukongai streets of Shuuhei's childhood. A sparse village with little water and less food. Abandoned dark forests lay by jagged rocks and dirt paths, so like the place where Muguruma Kensei had been ambushed. The trees, cypress and silver fir, were bigger now, branches tangled together like cutting shadows, but the tops of the evergreens were turning a worrisome brown.

Shuuhei lay by the well at the heart, and he was struggling to sit and awaken.

Kazeshini hit him from behind.

A quick elbow to the back of the head, and Shuuhei slumped. Kazeshini arrowed back to the surface, though he felt like he was going to shatter like steel against stone. He struggled through the murk of his own rage and the feeling that the entire universe was askew, back out to the eyes and brain and hands that could cut.

"What the fuck are you talking about, pretty-boy?" Kazeshini sneered, counting on the fact that time seemed to pass differently inside than out. What he hadn't counted on was the slender man hitting Kazeshini quite so hard.

Kazeshini hit the bank of screens and glass shattered. He bounced up with a roar and ran at Ayasegawa. Steel hissed from sheathes, clashed with sparks, until they were so close the perfume of Ayasegawa's breath filled Kazeshini's nose.

"Boys. Boys. Boys." It took a red-hazed moment for Kazeshini to realize it was Lisa, not Ise, who was pushing her glasses onto her nose and rolling up her sleeves. "Do I have to throw water on you jerks?"

Reiatsu rolled from her in a cold wave, half-Hollow, wholly frightening, and before he knew it, Kazeshini stepped back. Only half a step, but it was still backwards. The only saving grace was that the slender man had retreated as well, ostensibly to push a wind-blown feather back into place.

"Save it for the damned enemy!" Ikkaku roared, pushing between them.

"Hm... now I wonder who is the enemy." Ayasegawa's eyes were cool and narrowed, slipping like an ice dagger between Kazeshini's desperate will and the man he held under consciousness. Kazeshini had to look away.

"Shit, we're making enough noise to scare bull elephants." Grimmjow cracked his knuckles. "Let's go out there and get 'em. Ise, you want cover while you pick that thing with the Princess, right?"

Ise sighed. "Yes. Perhaps..."

"Just split up like before, 'n we'll cover all the ways in. Then you ladies get on it," Grimmjow finished. Kazeshini wondered how _anyone_ could just stand there like that with both Ise and Lisa looking at them like that. Then Kazeshini was terribly thankful they hadn't turned that regard on him.

Kazeshini lost that reassurance when folks started filing out of the observation room, and damn it all to hell if Grimmjow didn't fucking _wink_ at him.

* * *

Feeling pleased with himself, Grimmjow swaggered. Hanatarou followed Grimmjow like a trembling shadow. Ikkaku and Yumichika disappeared down the south corridor. Ise, Lisa, and Orihime all headed to the locked door. Ichigo and whatever the hell had taken over Shuuhei went off together down the west corridor, both lost in thought. Grimmjow really hoped those two would get a good fight. They both needed something to knock 'em out of their heads.

Grimmjow playfully contemplated doubling back and jumping 'em just to see much they'd scream, but the prowling presence at the back of his head growled, _Pick effective fights rather than tumbling with damned near anything, kitten._

Grimmjow snarled back.

Hanatarou cringed.

"Not you, mouse," Grimmjow barked. That only seemed to make Hanatarou try to be even smaller.

_Treat him like a mouse. Lure him out._

_And eat him?_ Grimmjow thought and got a chuff of humor.

 _Mice are good at chewing free of traps we'd never see._ The presence sounded pensive. _There are snares and traps in this place, as cold as the stones that make it._

Grimmjow frowned rather than shiver. "Right," he sighed and tried to think of a conversation subject that would actually interest the little guy. "Sorry 'bout that. You heal, huh? Like the Princess?"

"Uh, no." Hanatarou did, indeed, come out of himself with the question. "She's nothing like us. I have to work with what's there. I heal people by sewing them up, giving them time and room to heal themselves, giving them drugs, patching them together with energy, or even just giving them a part of myself. If the patient wants to heal, and they aren't too badly damaged for me to make a difference, they do."

"And she doesn't?" Grimmjow asked, intrigued. A whirlwind of memory kicked up in the back of Grimmjow's head, snatches of the look on Sado's face, the shock on Shuuhei's. A block of time stood like blank marble around what it felt like when the hunger was filled. Something big lashed its tail and snarled for him to go back, away from the featureless stone.

"No." Hanatarou shook his head vigorously. "Not at all. She just denies it ever happened, and the universe agrees."

Grimmjow feigned disinterest, desperate for the little guy to stop. "Right. So good to go then, huh?"

"I guess. I still feel off-balance, as if I still expect to be hurt, but I'm not, if you know what I mean?"

"No clue, buddy." Grimmjow forced aside memories of days of staggering through a fog of not knowing what the fuck he was anymore.

"Oh." Disappointment colored the boy's tones.

To Grimmjow's relief, footsteps approached from the direction of the locked door. Lisa appeared around the corner and beckoned before trotting back the way she'd come.

"Looks like we're in."

* * *

When the door cracked open, Hanatarou knew, instantly, that there was horror within. The smell that came out was acrid and metallic with old blood, the scent of death overlaying old dust and decay. Hanatarou walked three steps away, gulping down bile. Inoue-chan threw up quietly against a wall, and even the stronger members of the party looked queasy. Hollows went to dust when they died...

"Hanatarou." Madarame-san's tone gritted from between set teeth.

"I know. I know." Wearily, Hanatarou got to his feet. "If there's someone that needs healing..."

"Inoue, get behind me," Ichigo ordered, in no uncertain tones. Quickly Inoue-chan moved behind her protector.

"Everyone just stay here. We'll go in, take care a' what needs takin' care of, and then we'll come out ta get everyone. Right?" Madarame-san glared as if expecting someone to argue with him. No one did, though Jaggerjack-san had a very disrespectful smirk on his face.

Still, it was Jaggerjack-san who said, "Sure."

The blue-haired man leaned broad shoulders against the hallway, the very picture of someone who would wait patiently for weeks. It was Hisagomaru who muttered in the back of Hanatarou's head, _Yeah, and then pounce on you and eat you._ That wasn't reassuring.

Madarame-san and Ayasegawa-san flanked Hanatarou as he entered the dark confines. That helped. Using an old Fourth Division trick that he'd often used in the tunnels under the Gotei 13, Hanatarou muttered a kido spell for a speck of light that he perched on his shoulder.

Cells lined the walls just beyond the door. Just four cells, two to either side, each with a very public toilet, sink, and bed. In the one on the right were spilled and rotting boxes. When Hanatarou found the courage to look more closely, there were mouldy pastries, cookies, and cakes. That puzzled him with its incongruity. The cell opposite was equally unmade, covers and hard pillow flung every which way, and a few stray white feathers, dirty, tattered, and broken, scattered over the stone floor.

They went in further. The second cell on the right was untouched, iron bed straight and made with tucked corners, everything exact, but all lay under a blanket of thick dust.

The reek came from the last cell on the left. Something that had once been human spilled across the floor in a mess that even the inuring of decades of medical work didn't prevent the bile that rose in his throat. At least there was no sign of life in the scattered form. Nothing to keep it or hold it. Nothing that suffered any more.

The howls Hanatarou could hear through the next door, didn't bode well for that luck holding.

Madarame-san and Ayasegawa-san moved in smooth tandem to crack the seal. The smell was already so bad there was no worse reek. Keening sobs howled from the darkness, but nothing rushed the door. Ayasegawa-san shrugged and slipped through. Madarame-san took one look at Hanatarou's shaking knees, took him by the scuff of the neck, and carried him.

Though the fingers of the hands he put over his face, Hanatarou saw more cages, but smaller. Narrow as a single bed, one had a door that looked like a ripe seed pod, which had burst open and split. Bits of red fur fluttered from the raw edges of ripped metal bars. The gurney inside had been smashed so hard against the far wall it looked like a pancake. In the opposing cell, a white-garbed humanoid howled and wrenched pathetically against restraints that anchored it to a surgical table. A bone skull mask covered the face, but Hanatarou finally lost what little he had in his stomach when he saw what had happened to the rest of it.

Madarame-san screamed a _kiai_ , slashed apart the lock with his zanpakutou. He slammed the cell door open, took two long strides, swung again, and dust flew in the now mercifully quiet air.

"So much for leaving no evidence of our arrival," Ayasegawa-san quipped. Madarame-san growled and flung himself into the next room. Ayasegawa-san followed like a white shadow.

It took Hanatarou considerably longer to find his legs than he liked. As he scrabbled to get up, he realized his hands and feet were leaving trails in thick dust. It had been a while since anyone had come this way, and he shuddered at thinking about just how long that Arrancar had been kept here.

Then Madarame-san and Ayasegawa-san charged back out.

Bewildered, Hanatarou swayed. Everyone crowded into the narrow corridor, and the flood of people bodily carried Hanatarou past the reeking cage, and into...

Peace.

A quiet office with good lighting containing a single desk with an extra reading lamp, neat bookshelves along one wall, a comfortable couch, and several tables. Books, papers, and writing instruments covered the surface of the desk. Alcoves with trophies and art work filled a second wall. The third was taken up with an enormous white board, filled with graceful handwriting, working diagrams, and annotations in the symbols of kido.

Everywhere people moved, dust hung in the air. Hanatarou sneezed, violently, once and then twice. That seemed to set off Inoue-chan, Ichigo, and Ayasegawa-san. There was the sound of ripping cloth, and Lisa tied a piece of her sleeve about her face.

"I'm soooo not breathing Hollow dust," Lisa growled.

Hastily other members of the party did the same.

"Look for anything useful," Ise-fukutaichou ordered, and they scattered.

Hanatarou approached the library, thinking that books couldn't be too bad; however, when he started reading the titles on the shelves - _Spiritual Anatomy for Dissection, Soul Grafting,_ and _Practical Methods of Torture_ \-- he started rethinking his assumptions.

A rolling bang of a file cabinet caught Hanatarou's attention. Ise-fukutaichou and Lisa-san stood together, their heads bent towards each other over sheaves of papers, expressions nearly identical in their concentration. Hisagi-san stood to one side, holding a notebook. Hanatarou gravitated towards their quiet interest, glancing down at notes written in a hand almost too perfect to be real. Madarame-san shouldered his way to the table, and Hanatarou could feel his breath on Hanatarou's shoulder as they read the laboratory notebook that lay open in the center.

_Test subject Red has responded energetically to the treatments, far more quickly than White did. The amount of active resistance Red showed exceeded that of White, but those actions didn't seem to lengthen the transformation time to final form. There was a significant improvement over the attempt on the Flower subject, but there is regression from how the conversion worked on the Cricket._

_The results are encouraging, but hardly as successful as I had hoped. There are issues with the mechanisms guiding the actions of the transformed Red subject. While it is able to show some creative initiative in its actions, it seems unable to obey with the alacrity of the maintenance servants. White's inability to process beyond simple commands has been improved upon, however, the procedure still needs honing._

Below that were diagrams on how to splice Hollow spirit energy into a gifted soul, using the Hogyoku. The graphics made Hanatarou dizzy with horror at the implications.

"What the hell are these?" Madarame-san asked, sounding exasperated.

"They look like Aizen's personal notes," Ise-fukutaichou bit out, and she looked as sick as Hanatarou felt.

"I still haven't found Hacchi in these, I don't think," Lisa shuffled through more pages. "But I think Flower is Unohana..."

" _He_ wore a flowered coat," Ise-fukutaichou whispered. "And in his hair."

Lisa frowned and shook her head. "There is no references to gender, so there's no way to know."

"What about that thing in the hallway," Madarame-san growled. "Anything we can use against it when we have to go back out there?"

Wood smashed and splintered, and all heads whipped towards Jaggerjack-san, who was winding up for another blow, as torn pages whipped about him, and ruined books rained down from the half-smashed bookshelf.

"Stop that!" Ise-fukutaichou ordered. "Why on earth are you destroying things?"

"How the else're we gonna get into this cabinet?" Jaggerjack-san sounded peevish.

" _What_ cabinet?"

" _This_ cabinet," Jaggerjack-san took a step forward, one hand grasped the back board of the bookshelf he'd already broken, and he pulled. There was a scream of wood and nails coming undone, books cascaded to the floor, and a gaping hole showed up behind the bookcase. Jaggerjack-san growled in triumph. "See! It damned well echoed when I thumped it."

Ayasegawa-san reached into the desk, and the whole bookcase rumbled and tried to swing out into the room. Jaggerjack-san yelped, but displaced books, a smashed shelf, and the now-crooked frame of the bookshelf itself prevented it from moving more than a few degrees.

"There was a switch, idiot," Ayasegawa-san drawled. "You didn't have to smash it."

"Who are you calling--" Jaggerjack-san put his hand on his sword.

Madarame-san slammed into Jaggerjack-san, and for an instant, Hanatarou wondered if it wouldn't be wisest to just hide under the desk, but after a flash of blue eyes into narrowed ones, both stood down.

"What's in there?" Kurosaki-san climbed over the wreckage, found the edge of the bookshelf, and pulled it open another foot with ease. He slipped through the crack. "Oh. It's zanpakutou. A buncha them."

* * *

"Don't fucking _touch_ 'em!" Kazeshini yelped, as everyone tried to fit into the closet at once.

"What do you think we are, stupid?" Grimmjow growled.

Kazeshini stayed back, as people queued up to go into the tiny space with their hands covered with their uniform or what remained of their sleeves. Kazeshini had to stay back, because the swords they brought out had been too long separated from their people. Even in their sheaths, they knew, and knowing, they grieved or raged.

It was Kurosaki who brought out Senbonzakura. The lavender wrapping glowed against the black and bronze of the simple, squared off, open-frame tsuba. The shining white sheath bore the brown imprint of a hand wrapped about it. Ise set up a stand by the desk, and the kid set the sheathed blade down into it like a baby into a cradle. Only Kazeshini could see the samurai spirit trying, over and over, to kill itself, and he had to look away.

The problem was that Kazeshini looked right into the beady eyes of Madarame, who came out of the niche with naked pieces of notched, chipped, and broken steel in his bare hands. The battered thing still had bandages wrapping the hilt, but it was in more than a dozen pieces. There was no telling if some were missing or not, but Madarame held them all tenderly, even as a random edge opened skin in bloody lines along palm or fingers. Gently Madarame deposited the shards and slivers on a piece of cloth Ayasegawa had laid out on the desk. Wordless gibberings of rage spilled from the pieces of a shattered soul, and the acid of it etched the very air.

Grimmjow came next, lips pursed, hands balancing a blade sheathed in burgundy with a pink hilt. A long cord hung from one end and incongruous wheels spun idly from the tip of the sheath. The flower tsuba was still open, but all Kazeshini could feel from that blade was a deathly languor, a slumber from which there was no reason to awake.

Ise was standing next to Kazeshini. Ise couldn't have gone into that closet any more than he could have. Together, they watched Lisa came out with one sword in each fist. The daisho's hilts were wrapped in dark blue, the rectangular tsuba still graced with sakura blossoms, and the blades sheathed in traditional black. Katen Kyoukotsu was the worst of them all. Weakened by separation beyond all reasonable limits for a sword spirit, the damned pirate lady, rather than worrying about herself or her companion or her partner soul, looked at Kazeshini instead, and shook her head. _Now, is that any way to grow with your Shinigami, Kazeshini? Stop fucking around, boy, get off your freaking high horse and stop making an ass of yourself._

But that was when that mealy-mouthed medic brought out a far, far too familiar blade. It lay sheathed in black, hilt wrapped in orange silk, with a teardrop-shaped tsuba. Light came through the drops ringing the hilt, and a ring dangled off the tip on the same side as the edge.

"Suzumushi," Kazeshini whispered. This sword was why Hisagi was so weak. This sword was the origin of Kazeshini's troubles with his person. It should have died with Tousen, should have died with its original owner, yet, twice, it had come back. "Thought you were gone, you bitch."

The cricket spirit of the sword stirred and turned its blind head toward Kazeshini.

"What do you mean?" Ise suddenly yanked herself out of her grief to focus all her attention on Kazeshini

Slender arms slipped around Kazeshini's borrowed body and grabbed him in a neck lock. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with _my_ Shuuhei?" Yumichika purred possessively into Kazeshini's ear.

Shuuhei woke up, swinging.

"What the fuck?" Shuuhei spat as he struggled for consciousness. The room tilted and blurred. Shuuhei had to fight to stay on his feet, keep his eyes open, and swallow against a dry, metallic tasting mouth. "Shit. What the hell did you give me?"

"Oh, _there_ you are," Yumichika chirped. "I'd know that reiatsu anywhere!"

"Huh?" Shuuhei wished he could make a more coherent response. He attempted to shrug off whatever it was on his shoulders, holding back his arms, and locked onto his neck. It didn't budge. He was so freaking tired. Murky and muddy memories swirled. He was supposed to be fighting, wasn't he? Nemu wasn't running around trying to kill everyone anymore, there were just people standing there staring at him. And the room... "Where the hell are we? What the fuck did you _do_ to me?!"

Suddenly Ise had her fists wrapped in the lapels of Shuuhei's uniform, for all that she was so small, she was powerful. Her reiatsu beat at Shuuhei and made Yumichika release his hold and step back. Ise picked Shuuhei up and shook him. "What did you mean by saying 'I thought you were gone, bitch'?"

"I didn't say that!" Shuuhei panicked, fogged brain scrambling to find any reason he'd say something that idiotically suicidal to Nanao.

A slap burned Shuuhei's cheek and echoed through the room.

Ise drew her hand back for another, and Yumichika caught her wrist. "It wasn't him," Yumichika said, and Shuuhei really didn't want to make sense of that statement, but something surged under the fog of his scattered mind.

"How in the world couldn't it have been him?" Ise sounded as bewildered as Shuuhei felt. "He was standing here the whole time!"

Yumichika shook his head. "This reiatsu tastes like Shuuhei. It's damned confused and drugged to boot, but underneath, the savor of him was as disciplined as the running of a full wolf pack under the moon, willing and almost wanting to die for what it protects. That other thing was bitterly afraid of dying."

The room reeled about Shuuhei, and he felt his legs give out. Instead of hitting the floor, he dangled in Ise's grip. Rage and frustration roiled through Shuuhei's soul, and he recognized the flavor of it: Kazeshini.

Shuuhei dove into his inner world.

He landed on fragrant needles, thick on the forest floor. Hinoki cypress and silver fir, arborvitae and spruce, all crowded close, dark and dank and cold. The night sky was overcast, with no moon or stars. A storm brewed to the east, with lightning and the low rumble of thunder, and it was warm here, as warm as mid-summer. On careful and soundless feet, Shuuhei padded closer to the wood, and he saw that trees were dying. Branches rose bare to the sky. It was unseemly for evergreens to be so naked.

In the shadows, two red eyes gleamed.

Tired, confused, bewildered, Shuuhei stuck to the ground, rather than attacking his zanpakutou. Usually Kazeshini wouldn't listen until they beat each other to a pulp, but this time Shuuhei just couldn't get the energy or conviction.

"Kazeshini? Come down here," Shuuhei called out.

To Shuuhei's shock and surprise, Kazeshini leaped out of the darkness and landed awkwardly in front of Shuuhei, tail lashing from side to side. "Hey."

"Hey." For a long moment, they stared at each other.

"About that..." "What is..."

They both stopped.

"I don't know how it got so fucked up," Kazeshini confessed to the ground. "Thought it had ta be easier than the crazy-assed guilty screwed up knot you got us inta, but..."

Shuuhei couldn't think of a thing to say to that. It had been truly fucked up, and just trying to think of all the ways made his sore shoulders tense. The whole weight of trying to see which way was right when everything was wrong in Hueco Mundo, the horror at whom he'd had to kill, the last lost shreds honor or pride he might have had, and the rage that attended all of it so that he wouldn't just collapse all fell on Shuuhei again. He staggered and realized just what Kazeshini had bought him, even if it was for just a little while.

Kazeshini looked at Shuuhei worriedly. Shuuhei hadn't known that Kazeshini could look worried, but the spirit's ears were back and brows drawn, and suddenly Shuuhei realized he didn't have to talk.

"But...?" Shuuhei prompted, almost gently, and saw something give in Kazeshini. The posture of the black beast relaxed, uncoiled from some inner hurt.

"But some of it's all fuckin' harder'n I thought it'd be," Kazeshini growled and his ears flicked forward and then back again. "The killin's easy when they're comin' at us. But you didn't see her just lyin' there helpless and begging, soul ripped away, and the damned blue-assed panther made me _choose._ " The black beast shuddered. "And the freakin' insect's back."

"Insect?"

"Suzumushi."

"Tousen-taichou?" Shuuhei whispered, without much hope at all.

"Still dead and good riddance." Kazeshini flinched even as he said it.

Shuuhei unclenched his fist. "Right. But his sword still exists, and its spirit is alive?"

"Yes."

"Can you get it to tell us what happened?"

"I can't." Kazeshini looked Shuuhei in the eye. "You know I can't."

Shuuhei refused to look into those red eyes. "Why the fuck not?"

"She hates me 'cause I _kill_ people, Shuuhei. It's what I'm made to do." Kazeshini's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You keep forgettin', you idiot."

Shuuhei shook his head. Pieces fell into place, and Shuuhei suddenly knew why he was missing time. Kazeshini had taken over. Worse yet, it wasn't really Kazeshini's fault. It was Shuuhei's.

"I can't forget." The hot memory of one of the Nemu's blood flowing over his fist flooded over Shuuhei. He'd drawn to block, not strike. "Can't forget a part of my soul can do nothing but destroy," Shuuhei said softly. "And I can't forgive myself for being weak enough to let you do it."

Shuuhei attacked. His blade was out before he'd even finished his sentence. Kazeshini threw itself bodily to the side before bounding back with teeth and claws reaching for Shuuhei. A line of fire ripped and skipped along Shuuhei's arm, side, cheek, even as he felt his sword bit into Kazeshini's ribs, hip, and shoulder. The ensuing chaos was good, felt _right_. The first fight that felt that way in what seemed an eternity.

With a scream, Shuuhei used a two-handed overhead stroke try and split Kazeshini in two. It hit, but Kazeshini dodged, and the edge sliced into in its shoulder instead of its head, and Kazeshini's fangs closed on Shuuhei's throat. Pulse staggering, breath heaving, muscles locked into the fight, Shuuhei looked Kazeshini in its red eyes and found tears and agony where he expected rage.

The black beast coughed and growled, mouth opening. Shuuhei could feel the teeth sliding from his neck, and he gasped at the acid pain of it. When he pulled back, yanking his blade free of something hanging onto it, Kazeshini flinched, and Shuuhei saw the havoc wrecked by his own will and arm on the midnight hide and the ruby flesh underneath.

"Goddammit... for such a weakling you..." Kazeshini hissed, staggered, and fell heavily to the loam. "Shit, I give," it whispered in a hoarse voice. "Now get the fuck out of here before they kill us both."

Shuuhei opened his eyes to find himself on his knees, slumped before Ise. Her fist was still on his uniform, but she wasn't dangling him like some child's toy.

"Who are you?" she growled.

"I am myself," Shuuhei said, and the reality of that came crashing back down on his head.

Yumichika gave a giggle that sent chills down Shuuhei's spine as he remembered Yumichika taking him out when Aizen first showed his true colors. The damned reiatsu-sucker was practically drooling on Shuuhei's collar.

"Who were you earlier?" Yumichika purred.

"Fuck off." Shuuhei did his best to stand up on his own two feet. His damned knees weren't working the way they were supposed to, and Shuuhei's head felt like it was being gripped in a vice, but he got up anyway and tried to hide the shaking.

Squaring his shoulders, Shuuhei looked Ise right in those damned reflective glasses and told the absolute truth. "Ise-fukutaichou, I was not speaking for your ears, earlier. My apologies for any misunderstandings."

"Who _were_ you talkin' to?" Grimmjow came up from the side, and Shuuhei wanted to curse.

"Suzumushi." To Shuuhei's surprise, it was Ise who answered. She spoke slowly, as if she were thinking about every word she said. "I heard you say her name, but didn't connect it until now."

The blade lay there, in its sheath, on the desk. Shuuhei didn't see anything alive about it at all, but tentatively he nodded at Ise's statement, hoping that would be enough.

"Why'n hell would _he_ talk to that?" Ikkaku asked, voice rough.

"He didn't," Yumichika said flatly. "Who was it, Shuuhei?"

"How do you know it wasn't me, Yumichika. You told everyone why you know?" Shuuhei challenged in a rush to direct attention away from himself.

Ikkaku's nostrils flared.

Yumichika paled but tossed his hair in a casual motion. "I know how Shuuhei's reiatsu tastes, that's all."

Ikkaku frowned, and Shuuhei's hopes fell.

"Oh. That." Ise pushed up her glasses. Then she sighed. "That's... taking us away from the crux of the problem. Hisagi, what should we do with you, if you can't keep control of yourself?"

"Kill him?" Grimmjow offered casually.

It did not reassure Shuuhei when the only ones who glared at Grimmjow were Orihime and Hanatarou.

"What if Aizen's created something that takes over Hisagi and uses him to murder us? Who killed Ogidou and Iemura, Hisagi?" Lisa asked.

The headache intensified as everyone looked at him, other than Hanatarou. The damned kid took two steps further away. "Shit. I killed Ogidou?"

"Well, that makes it pretty damned clear," Ikkaku casually clicked his sword from his sheath.

"No. No, it's not." To Shuuhei's surprise, it was Hanatarou who spoke up. The kid's soft voice said, "Ogidou was trying to kill him, for Iemura's sake. And if it was this something else, it was acting in defence, but... it did kill Ogidou."

"And almost killed me," Ise added in far too clear a voice for that statement. "Now that I see you, Hisagi, and have had the difference pointed out to me, someone with a different reiatsu threw your sickles to kill Harribel, no?"

"I..." Shuuhei closed his eyes and tried to think through that sequence and couldn't come up with it. Kazeshini, a constant voice in his head for the last several months, was not there, and he suddenly realized just how many gaps he relied on the zanpakutou to fill. It was stupid to think of Kazeshini as one of Aizen's flunkies, wasn't it? "It... it was my zanpakutou, not something Aizen made."

Ikkaku's sword clicked back into its sheath, and Shuuhei dared to open his eyes. Grimmjow looked worried of all things. Ichigo was frowning and looking away. Ise now had her eyes closed, and Lisa was just thoughtful. That scared Shuuhei more than anything else.

"Aizen been messin' with zanpakutou," Grimmjow offered with a nod at the neat rack of evidence. "Who says he didn't jigger yours?"

"I say," Shuuhei found it remarkably easy to glare into the turquoise blue eyes. If Grimmjow killed him it would at least be quick. "I never let him out of my sight."

"But if your zanpakutou was controlling you, how much of that would you know? You don't even remember Ogidou." Ise said far too reasonably.

"Are y'all losing track of the fact that none of you trusted Hisagi to start?" Yumichika mused, his musical voice pensive. "And you probably shouldn't be trusting him, or Lisa dearest, Grimmy, or me either. And yet here we are..."

Ise was holding her forehead in her hand. "This is so..."

"Fucked up?" Ikkaku drawled. "Yeah. From the goddamned start. You can see if crazy boy is fucked up, right?"

"Uhm. When his zanpakutou is in ascendance, yes." Ise was now looking over her glasses at Ikkaku.

"Then stick with him. Yell if he goes. Then we'll whack him or make him talk." Ikkaku's beady eyes pinned Shuuhei where he stood. "This one we trust as little as we did before. Right?"

"Well, that sounds as reasonable as possible. And I'll hand off to Yumichika, I guess, if I must busy myself with other tasks, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am," Yumichika said gracefully.

Knowing that his erstwhile crew wasn't going to just kill him, Shuuhei decided the floor would be a good place to be, and he sat down before he fell down. The whole room swayed, and he closed his eyes for just a minute.

* * *

Hanatarou crouched by the unconscious Hisagi and checked to make sure that the man was still breathing. He was, and the pulse under Hanatarou's fingers was strong. Given how many pills the man had taken, Hanatarou was still amazed he was alive, much less breathing and awake. The others gathered about.

"Where are we going next?" Inoue-chan asked softly. "Aizen's not here, we can't kill him where he isn't, so where else could he be?"

"Maybe there's another place," Ichigo answered, scratching at his orange mop of hair.

"Why do you think that?" Hanatarou asked in a voice that wavered more than he liked.

"Well, there isn't anything alive here, and that girl babbled about taking care of more people wasn't she?" Ichigo asked. "Mighta been one here to take care of, but not _people_ , so there's gotta be something else."

Everyone stared at Ichigo.

"But isn't that scary thing running around where that lady went?" Orihime asked.

There was a rustle of motion and Ikkaku, Yumichika, Grimmjow, and Ichigo all laid hands on their hilts. That made Hanatarou remember back in the observation room, when all of them had done that on seeing the thing.

"Oh! It didn't bother Madoka!" Hanatarou said, hopefully. "Maybe it has orders to not kill or injure the caretakers?"

"So we wait for her?" Grimmjow asked, looking confused. "Or you gonna try'n make like a zombie medic?"

Hanatarou's hands went up in reflexive defence. "No, no... not me. But... maybe if we walk with her we won't have to fight or raise an alarm."

"That sounds wise," Ise said absentmindedly. Her hands were on Suzumushi's hilt. "I think we'll take these with us. Don't want to leave them here, laying out for anyone to find."

"No. We don't." Ikkaku bit out, rolling the pieces of Zaraki's sword into a piece of cloth. "Got this one."

Lisa had Kyouraku's blades in her belt. Yumichika carried Yachiru's blade. Ichigo ended up with Kuchiki's.

"Hoshibana, if you can hear us..." Ise tried uncertainly.

Hoshibana's voice sounded clearly in mid-air. "Yes, Ise-fukutaichou?"

"Where is Madoka?"

"She seems to be circuiting between the kitchens, housecleaning, laundry, these offices, your location, and one other place. It is a regular rotation, probably three circuits during the day. She should be nearing your location in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Hoshibana. I appreciate you listening in on us as well, it will help keep us informed."

"Aye, sir. We'll keep monitoring. There is still no sign of Aizen or his officers."

"Thank you."

"All right, everyone," Ise said. "Search these rooms for anything we can use. We'll be leaving soon."

"Aye!"

They all scattered.

 

* * *


	41. Nanao: Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many sorts of prison, and many captives. -- by incandescens

**NANAO: PRISONERS**

  


Nanao was uncomfortably aware of the new weight in her sash. Her own zanpakutou lay in her sleeve, the sheath comfortable against her arm, its balance something which she was used to, _trained_ to. While carrying this strange zanpakutou wasn’t enough to throw her off balance, it was a constant presence in her awareness, enough to cause her to deliberately ignore it in the same way that she might ignore an itch or a broken nail.

Her own zanpakutou had chosen to be silent about her choice to carry it, and indeed anything at all concerned with it. While the blade had never been one of the more communicative sorts – quite a contrast with her, certainly, as Nanao was _always_ ready to communicate – this time it felt even more deliberately opaque than usual. She wasn’t sure whether to interpret it as an attempt to avoid Suzumushi, or to avoid Nanao herself.

With an effort, she forced those worries to the back of her mind. This was not a moment to agonise about her relationship with her zanpakutou. It was not even a moment to consider how one might use a weapon like Suzumushi, if it could be done at all. The priority at the moment was following Madoka to wherever her route led – the mysterious “other place” which, according to Hoshibana, was so heavily inlaid with killing stone that even the surveillance room had difficulty focusing in on it.

Of course, it was obvious what that _might_ mean, and she only had to look sideways to see Kyouraku-taichou’s blades in Yadomarou-sempai’s belt, and that was yet another topic which she could not afford to consider at the moment. It would sway her judgment. She must be calm. She was in command – well, as much as Madarame was, or anyone else was in the group. She could not afford to let her personal thoughts or wishes endanger the others.

 _He_ would never have done such a thing, after all.

As they approached the killing stone concentration, Nanao realised she was drawing her brows together in a frown. There was no reason why she should like it, of course, but in such a situation, and with the constant threat of Aizen discovering them, it was even worse. They would all be weakened in this particular territory.

The thought made her turn to speak to Madarame, keeping her voice to a soft murmur. “We need to be in and out of this area as fast as possible. If we’re caught here –“

Madarame nodded. “Right. Even deeper shit than usual.”

“You may be missing something there,” Yadomarou-sempai said, tilting her head as she joined them, her short skirt flipping round her thighs as she strode along. When Madarame glared at her, she shrugged. “Look, half the point about us having to all trot into this damn killing stone zone is that we can’t tell who’s in there, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Madarame started, and then he slapped himself on the forehead. “Right. Fuck, why the hell didn’t I think of that?”

Nanao’s eyes widened as she caught the idea. It almost made her want to slap her own forehead. “Perfect,” she said slowly, “or at least, as good as we’re going to get.”

“It only works until he actually starts looking for us in there,” Lisa said. “Don’t blame yourself, kids. I’ve been spending the last few months trying to stare into his warded zones and getting nothing for my trouble but eyestrain. Let’s use it against him for once. It may give us a little longer before he notices something’s up.”

Madarame flicked a quick glance at the others behind him, and lowered his voice a little further, though he kept his tone conversational. “It’s crazy that we’ve been as lucky as we have.”

“Good planning can take you a long way,” Nanao said dryly. “Just ask Aizen.”

Lisa snorted. “True, but it only goes so far. And why was that lab all dusty, anyhow?”

Nanao had been wondering about that. Why would Aizen have left his researches like that? What worse thing could he have been doing instead? Or was there something else going on that they didn’t know about? It was a big gaping unknown in the middle of their plans, and she didn’t like that at all. “Maybe he was visiting Ichimaru,” she hypothesised, “and the two of them were keeping it secret.”

“But why?” Madarame asked, and Nanao could only shrug in response.

“Here we are,” Hisagi hissed. He was standing just in front of the border of the heavy killing stone section.

Madoka had already walked into the area, and was continuing down the corridor as calmly as if she was bringing tea to a superior officer. She was carrying an empty wicker basket, lined with a dirty napkin, that contained nothing except a few crumbs.

Inoue Orihime halted, staring at the thick killing stone with wide horrified eyes. “It feels _ghastly_ in there,” she said in a horrified whisper.

“It’ll be all right,” Kurosaki-kun said, patting her shoulder. “We won’t be splitting up or anything. We’ll all be together and we’ll be out of there as soon as we’ve checked.”

Nanao decided not to tell him about the new plan yet. “Keep on following,” she directed. “There may be some sort of barrier that she’s got clearance to pass. We can’t afford to let her get too far ahead.”

There was a faint but persistent buzz at the back of her mind as she went forward. She’d rarely been in the presence of so much killing stone before. Like most seated officers, she’d visited the Tower of Penitence once or twice, but she’d never lingered there for longer than was strictly necessary, and she’d always spared a moment’s pity for the guards whose duty kept them there hour after hour. Of course, it wasn’t actually _harmful_. It was just unpleasant. Annoying.

(Though would it be harmful, if you kept people here for months on end, with no way to escape the constant pressure, with their power bound so that they couldn’t resist it?)

There was no dust on the floor. There hadn’t been anywhere else here, now that she thought about it. “Yamada-kun,” she said softly.

“Yes, Ise-fukutaichou?” he questioned, scuffling up to join her. He shot her a quick, nervous glance as though expecting her to say that they were all about to die horribly.

“When you were sweeping or mopping the corridors, was there ever actually anything to sweep up?”

He frowned. “Not unless someone left it there, Ise-fukutaichou. Though that did happen sometimes. With some Arrancar.” He shuddered vaguely. “The slime, you see . . .”

“Quite,” Nanao said, trying not to think about it. “So the fact that there’s no dust here doesn’t actually prove that someone’s been here recently.”

“Er, no, Ise-fukutaichou. Or yes, rather, it doesn’t.”

“Thank you,” Nanao said before he could stammer at her any more. The walls were blanks at the moment. There were no doors in this stretch of corridor. The whole place seemed to have been laid out for maximum maze quality. If they hadn’t been following Madoka, she would have been trying to solve it like a standard maze. There had to be a key to it, after all, if only for Aizen’s own convenience. And it couldn’t be _that_ big.

Another corner. This was the third left that Madoka had taken. Perhaps it was a case of first, second, then third left? That would fit.

“I still think – holy fuck, there’s a door ahead!” Madarame said. He snapped from casual strolling into combat alertness. “Yumichika, you’ve got the rear. Everyone else except Ise-fukutaichou, stay the fuck back until we can see what she’s doing there.”

Nanao nodded in thanks to Ikkaku, flash stepping forward till she was only a few paces behind the woman, with Ikkaku joining her. (And Kurosaki-kun, thank heavens, obeying orders and staying back.) They watched together as she put down her basket, took a key from her sash, and opened the door.

Nanao’s breath caught in her throat. She literally felt her heart tremble. Inside the cell, quite visible through the open door, was Kuchiki Byakuya.

 _But he’s dead_ , was her first thought. _They saw him die. He’s dead. Can Aizen bring back the dead?_

A heavy collar round his throat kept him chained to the wall, and similar manacles round his wrists were linked to a chain round his waist. His hair hung long and unkempt around his face, half-obscuring his eyes, but oh, how his gaze burned. Dirt and stubble marked his face and his hands, and his nails were broken short and jagged. He was in plain shinigami black, any individual honours or tokens long since removed, and he sat on his feet in seiza, perfectly calm and controlled except for those furious, desperate eyes.

Madoka picked up her basket and walked over to an empty basket that lay just within his reach. She bent down, and her hand moved as though she was transferring food, before she straightened again and made her way back to the door. She never seemed to notice Kuchiki-taichou, any more than she had noticed Nanao or Madarame or any of the rest of them.

And then the next thought hit Nanao. _Is this one of Aizen’s illusions? Are we already caught in his net?_

She glanced sideways at Madarame, and saw the same thought in his eyes.

But he was the first to speak. “Sparkles would have said something.” His voice was nearly, very nearly, certain. “That’s why he and the others are in that room. So the reports were wrong. So we cope. Suggestions?”

Madoka walked out of the room. She put down the basket again, and took out the key again to lock the door.

Nanao thought quickly. “Inoue-kun and I will get the door open and those locks off him. Leave me Ayasegawa-san and Yadomarou-sempai in case we need to carry him. We’ll get him out and catch up with you. If Madoka leaves the area, wait at the end of the killing stone zone. Is that acceptable?”

“I’ll take Yadomarou but leave Kurosaki with you,” Madarame said. They both kept their voices down. “He’s not going to leave Inoue-kun. And he’s carrying the captain’s zanpakutou. How long will it take you to get him loose?”

“If it’s the same locks that Aizen was using earlier, five minutes or so,” Nanao said confidently. “This is probably a brute force situation rather than complexity. The only problem may be if Kuchiki-taichou . . .” She lowered her voice again. “Wants to take over direction of the mission.”

“So handle it,” Madarame said. He gave her a little smirk. “You’re used to handling captains, right?”

Perhaps he hadn’t seen Kuchiki-taichou’s eyes as clearly as she had. She was going to speak again, when suddenly Hoshibana’s voice cut in, faint and shaky. “Ise-fukutaichou, Third Seat Madarame – is that –“

“Yes,” Nanao simply said. She turned to Ikkaku. “We’ll be with you as fast as we can.” Then she raised her voice. “Inoue-kun, Kurosaki-kun, Ayasegawa-san, you’re with me. The rest of you are with Madarame.”

A quick explanation, and Inoue-kun was staring at the lock together with her. There was an alarm worked into the kidou of the lock, as Nanao had expected. “Negate that bit,” she instructed the girl, pointing it out to her, “when you see it glowing, and I’ll do the rest. Do you understand?”

“And Byakuya’s really in there?” Inoue-kun said, her lower lip wobbling.

“Yes,” Nanao said, praying for patience.

“And he’s been in there for months now?”

Nanao didn’t bother to answer. She simply energised the kidou, separating out the structure of the spell on the lock and pointing out the part that she wanted Inoue-kun to negate.

After all, what could she possibly say that would make it any better?

Kurosaki-kun was shifting from foot to foot, his hand moving to touch the hilt of Senbonzakura in his sash and then twitching away again. “I thought he was dead,” he muttered to Ayasegawa.

Ayasegawa looked down at his white clothing mournfully. “I thought so too,” he said, his tone reserved.

The lock clicked open.

Nanao was the first through the door. “Kuchiki-taichou,” she said, working hard to keep her voice even and calm. “We’ll get those chains off. Ayasegawa, can you watch the door, please.”

“Is Aizen alive?” Kuchiki-taichou asked. His voice was dry and thin with disuse: instead of being cool and commanding, it was now simply cold and full of distance and forced control.

“He is,” Nanao said. She went down on her knees next to him to look at his chains. Standard multiple-binding kidou, suitable for restraining high-power prisoners. “Good, I don’t need your help for this one, Inoue-kun. It’ll just be –“

“Kurosaki,” Kuchiki-taichou said. His eyes moved to Kurosaki-kun and stayed there.

“Byakuya,” Kurosaki-kun returned. He folded his arms nervously, his head twitching a little.

“My sword,” Kuchiki-taichou said. “Give me my sword.”

If Kurosaki-kun had been a horse, he would have been tossing his head and rolling his eyes. “Look, just let them get those chains off you –“

“Give him his sword,” Ayasegawa broke in. He didn’t turn away from the corridor, but his back and shoulders were eloquent. “How would you feel if it were your own blade?”

Kurosaki-kun sighed. “Fine.” He drew Senbonzakura from his sash, sheath and all, and put it down on the floor in front of Kuchiki-taichou. “There.”

Kuchiki-taichou leaned forward till the tips of his fingers brushed against the hilt of his zanpakutou. He took a long breath, then nodded, as if sealing some private pledge.

“We’re checking for other prisoners,” Nanao reported, her fingers moving through the patterns of the kidou lock, “and then we’re planning a strike against Aizen.”

“A poor report.” Kuchiki-taichou did not abate the stiffness of his posture for even a moment. His hair hung lank around his face, and the planes of cheekbones and chin showed harsh through the skin. “Who is with you?”

“Ikkaku,” Kurosaki-kun said. “And Hisagi, and Yadomaru Lisa, and Hanatarou, he was a prisoner here like you.” He hesitated before continuing. Nanao could guess why. Kurosaki-kun might not be overly gifted with tact, but he had some inkling of it. Vizards and paltry survivors would be bad enough as comrades to a captain like Kuchiki-taichou, but an ex-Hollow like Grimmjow?

Kuchiki-taichou’s eyes narrowed. “That is all?” he asked, in tones of contempt.

“Please,” Inoue-kun said. She knelt beside him and reached out to touch his wrist, her eyes full of tears. “Please don’t be angry with the ones who died. They fought too. Please – please don’t blame them –“

With a nearly visible sigh, Kuchiki-taichou recomposed himself, his eyes tracking over Inoue-kun with disdain. “You were a prisoner as well,” he said, stating it as a fact rather than making a question of it.

Inoue-kun dropped her gaze, her hand falling to her lap. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He simply turned away from her, withdrawing his attention in such a way as to make it clear that she no longer merited it, and refocused on Nanao. “How much longer?”

“A moment, please, Kuchiki-taichou,” Nanao muttered, wishing people would stop talking while she was trying to work. “These are quite complex –“

“Byakuya,” Kurosaki-kun broke in. “They said you were dead.”

“Whoever said as much, they were fools to trust anything in this place,” Kuchiki-taichou answered distantly.

“But if you’re alive . . .” Kurosaki-kun seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. “If you’re alive, then maybe Rukia –“

“She is gone.” Kuchiki-taichou did not look at Kurosaki-kun. “You will not speak to me of her again.”

“But –“ Kurosaki-kun began to protest.

“Be silent.” Even with his reiatsu bound, those words shuddered in the prison cell. “You and I have nothing further to discuss.”

The bindings came loose as Nanao muttered the final words of an unlocking kidou. First the cuffs clattered from his wrists, then the belt from his waist and the collar from around his neck. Nanao could see old galls and fresh blisters where they had pressed against his skin.

Kuchiki-taichou straightened, picked up his zanpakutou and rose to his feet, trying to make a single smooth moment of it: he was a fraction too long in settling his shoulders, a little too careful in loosening his knees, though the thin lines at the corners of his mouth might have been temper just as well as pain. He strode towards the door, forcing Kurosaki-kun to step out of his way.

Then he paused. “Which way from here does Aizen den?”

Nanao scrambled to her feet, shaking the last few sparks of power from her fingers. “Sir, we are in a warded section where the prisoners are kept – we are not sure which way from here he might be – if we could join the others –“

“Unnecessary,” Kuchiki-taichou said flatly. “To give him more time to react is to allow him the advantage. We must strike now.”

She had to head him off before the entire plan was ruined. “Kuchiki-taichou –“

“Yes, Ise-fukutaichou?” He was using her title quite deliberately. _Either you are still in the Gotei 13 and you obey me, or you stand against me,_ his tone said.

“Our priority is Aizen’s death.” He nodded faintly to that. “To strike at him in less than full numbers, to sacrifice a possible advantage, would be an error. We should at least rejoin the others before we move against him. Third Seat Madarame, Hisagi-fukutaichou, one of the Arrancar who is fighting with us, one of the Vizards who was also a prisoner here . . .”

Hisagi’s name drew no particular reaction from him, nothing more than the nod he had given Kurosaki-kun earlier. _So he didn’t know that Hisagi was serving Aizen,_ Nanao thought. _He must have been kept totally isolated here._

But he did give a slight, a very slight inclination of his head in acknowledgement of her words. “True. Where are these others?”

Was it wrong of her, to wish that they had found someone else here? No. She couldn’t let herself go down that route. Or else she’d be blaming every prisoner they found for not being the one that she desperately wanted to find.

She did wish, however, that Kuchiki-taichou had been just a fraction more grateful to see them, and more open to discussion about what would be done next. He hadn’t even asked how many of them there were –

An alarm bell at the back of her head made itself obvious. No. He _hadn’t_ asked how many of them there were. He hadn’t demanded a situation report, or wanted to know how many of the Gotei 13 were alive, or how Seireitei and the world of the living stood. He had simply taken up his sword and said that they would attack Aizen.

Whatever his other traits, Kuchiki-taichou had always been a good and sensible captain. This current behaviour was not appropriate to a good and sensible captain. She glanced across to Ayasegawa as unobtrusively as she could manage, and she thought that she saw the same concern in his eyes.

“They left us about five minutes ago,” Kurosaki-kun said, apparently not having noticed anything out of the usual. “But they aren’t going fast. And if they’d come to any crossroads, then they’d have left some sort of mark for us – right, Yumichika?”

“Correct,” Ayasegawa said coldly. He moved to open the door. “If you will – oh, one thing, Kuchiki-taichou. There is –“

Kuchiki-taichou ignored him, pacing calmly out of his cell.

A gasp of relief and answered hope rippled on the air. Hoshibana’s voice echoed in the corridor, louder than previously but still distorted. “Kuchiki-taichou!”

Kuchiki-taichou frowned. He glanced up and down the corridor with a barely perceptible flick of his eyes, then raised his fingers to touch the side of his head.

“Hoshibana, how far ahead are Madarame and the others?” Nanao asked.

“Madoka-san has been going at the same speed,” Hoshibana reported. “They haven’t come to anywhere of interest yet. Shall I tell them you’re safely out?”

“Please do,” Nanao instructed. “We’ll be with them in a moment. Nothing else in the passageways?”

Pagally’s voice broke in. “There’s that thing! We’ve told Hisagi-sama, but it’s not anywhere near him. It’s closer to you –“

“Explain this,” Kuchiki-taichou demanded. The note of irritation in his voice was more pronounced than it would have been a year ago.

“There’s a surveillance room, Kuchiki-taichou,” Ayasegawa said quickly. “Hoshibana is with us: he’s hiding in it, with a couple of our other people. It can broadcast to us here. And there’s a creature that we saw in the corridors earlier. Some sort of warped Arrancar or something: we got away before it caught our scent, but we think it’s a guard.”

“You should have cleansed it and had done with it,” Kuchiki-taichou said disdainfully.

“It’s not like _I_ got a chance to see it,” Kurosaki-kun drawled.

“Our priority was to investigate and to rescue any prisoners, sir,” Nanao said, trying to cut this off before any more blame could be placed. While she certainly had experience at managing some captains, Kuchiki-taichou wasn’t one of them, and she wasn’t sure whether to try to pacify him with unnecessary apologies or to go for strictly professional behaviour and clipped no-nonsense speech. “We were afraid that fighting and cleansing it might set off an alarm.”

Kuchiki-taichou gave a faint nod. It implied disapproval but comprehension. “And that woman. Who is she?” A pause. “And why are Ayasegawa and Kurosaki wearing white –“

“Kuchiki-taichou, the threat is rapidly approaching your location,” Hoshibana broke in. “I recommend moving to avoid it if you wish to avoid giving the alarm.”

If Nanao had had a spare moment, she would have used it to be grateful that she didn’t have to explain that Ayasegawa and Kurosaki-kun had been working for Aizen up till less than an hour ago, or come up with a complicated lie about wearing white in order to sneak into Las Noches. And she didn’t want to think about the fact that she was considering lying to Kuchiki-taichou in order to keep him calm, or that Kuchiki-taichou of all people might be on the verge of losing his self-possession. “We have to go, sir,” she said urgently.

Kuchiki-taichou nodded again. He turned and flash-stepped away, not even bothering to check that the others were following him. Kurosaki-kun muttered something as he swept Inoue-kun up into his arms and followed, leaving Nanao and Ayasegawa to bring up the rear.

The passageway turned to the right, then promptly devolved into a nested tangle of openings. Kuchiki-taichou paused for a moment, his head turning from side to side as though he were sniffing for a trail.

“Hey, this is new,” Kurosaki-kun said unhelpfully.

“To the left,” Ayasegawa said, nodding to where someone had left a small mark on the wall by one opening, a darkened scratch at ankle height. “It’s standard Eleventh Division pattern. Ikkaku –“

Kuchiki-taichou barely acknowledged him, sweeping on, with Kurosaki-kun following.

“—would naturally have indicated where he was going,” Ayasegawa finished, addressing the remark to Nanao as the only one left.

“Of course,” Nanao agreed. “And it’s a good thing. You can’t track by reiatsu in here at all.”

Ayasegawa nodded, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Which is a good thing, if that thing is trying to find us.” His wistful tone hinted that yes, he would rather like it if the thing did find them. Eleventh Division. They never changed.

Nanao had another sudden lurching thought. “If Kuchiki-taichou sees Grimmjow –“ she began.

Ayasegawa’s sudden twitch showed that he had come to the same mental conclusion. He didn’t bother answering. He just ran after Kuchiki-taichou like a hound after a hare, leaving Nanao to follow in his dust.

Fortunately, by the time they caught up with Kuchiki-taichou, Kuchiki-taichou had caught up with the rest of the group, but he wasn’t trying to strike Grimmjow down on sight. In fact, he was barely paying any attention to him, which was evidently annoying Grimmjow. His focus was on Madarame, who was clearly trying to give a captain due respect while at the same time keep an eye on Madoka and hold the rest of the group together.

“—and explain to me why so many of your group are in white,” Kuchiki-taichou was finishing.

Hisagi gave Madarame a panicked roll of the eyes.

“Hisagi and I are freed prisoners,” Yadomaru-sempai interposed calmly. “Much like yourself, Kuchiki-taichou, we have had no choice about what we were given to wear. Kurosaki-kun was controlled by his Hollow side. Grimmjow here was an Espada until he was cleansed.”

“Yeah,” Grimmjow said. “You got anything to say to that?”

“Why should I bother?” Kuchiki-taichou inquired. “You are quite obviously no longer an Arrancar or Hollow, as you have no mask or hole.”

Grimmjow blinked. “You actually noticed that? You genuinely fucking noticed?” He did a little dance. “See, fuckwits! Someone noticed!

“I know what Hollow reiatsu feels like,” Kuchiki-taichou said, and once again something very cold and very furious looked out of his eyes. “You are nothing like it.”

Grimmjow stopped his dancing. His hand fell to stroke the hilt of his sword. “So what do we do now?” he asked Madarame, pointedly ignoring Kuchiki-taichou. “You think she’s going to lead us to anyone else?”

“We can hope,” Madarame said. “Kuchiki-taichou, I don’t know how much Ise-fukutaichou’s told you –“

“Be brief,” Kuchiki-taichou said. “Are these people here all that we have as resources?”

Madarame nodded. “Unless we find someone else locked up like you, sir.”

“And who do we face, beside Aizen himself?”

“Ichimaru’s in Seireitei and he’s being engaged by Ukitake-taichou, Soifon-taichou and Sasakibe-fukutaichou,” Nanao said, trying to condense the information down as much as she could. “Tousen’s dead. Kurotsuchi Mayuri seems to have left the area for the moment. Harribel is dead. We don’t know the whereabouts of Szayel Apollo, Yammi, or Ulquiorra.”

“Ulquiorra was looking for Harribel,” Inoue said, white-lipped and shivering. “If he can’t find her, then he’ll try to report to Aizen. If Aizen starts investigating things . . .”

“Then we have limited time,” Kuchiki-taichou agreed. He was calm now, rather than icily quick and tense: a man resigned to what was coming, and glad that it was coming soon, and wilfully and gratefully blind to everything else.

Nanao looked sideways, and caught Madarame’s glance towards her at the same time. Had they both thought that they’d find a Captain and that everything would then be neat and tidy? That the Captain would have a plan? Why yes, they had, irrational bit of unstated optimism that it had been. Even Madarame, who was more used to command of this sort than she was, had _hoped_.

They had another weapon now, but Nanao wasn’t sure that they had a leader.

Which left her and Madarame to organise. Manage. Coordinate. Lead.

“Grimmjow reported rumours of two powerful prisoners,” she said firmly, raising her voice a little, just enough to make it a statement rather than something which could be discussed and argued about and ignored. “If Kuchiki-taichou is one of them, then there may be another. If we can free that person,” the careful blandness of the words were like sawdust in her mouth, “then we improve our odds against Aizen.”

Kuchiki-taichou looked at her a little too long, and then he nodded. “A reasonable risk.” His movements had shaken the dust off his clothing, but he didn’t try to brush the dirt from his hair and hands. Maybe to do so would have been to admit a weakness. “Continue to follow this woman, then.”

“Yes, sir,” Madarame said, with a little too much relief.

Then Hoshibana’s voice broke in. “Kuchiki-taichou! The creature is approaching rapidly, it took a different corridor, it’ll be on you in a moment –“

Kuchiki-taichou drew his sword. So did Kurosaki-kun and Madarame and Ayasegawa and Hisagi, and Grimmjow snarled, white teeth flashing in his mouth as he fondled the hilt of his blade. Yadomaru-sempai grabbed Inoue-kun and Hanatarou, pulling them to the back of the group, and moving behind them to watch the rear. Nanao felt the words of blasting kidou crawling through her mind, ready for use, and it was such a relief to finally be about to strike an enemy down, to be able to take _vengeance_ \--

Cold as glass in winter, echoing at the back of her mind, a voice which might have been her own voice or the voice of her zanpakutou said, _That is not part of us. We do not speak of vengeance._

Nanao swallowed. She moved her hand from where it was almost touching Suzumushi’s hilt. Nobody was looking. Nobody had noticed.

Nobody except, she thought, Suzumushi.

The creature came round the bend in the corridor with a hissing leap, and crouched there, assessing its prey. It stood half bent over, wide bullish shoulders rounded and thick with muscle and bone, and a mane of dirty hair the colour of old blood tangled over its face and round its shoulders. White rags of clothing clung to its body. Its face, where it could be seen through the masses of hair, was half fanged skull, half warped flesh. Clawed feet dug into the smooth white floor, and a spiked tail lashed behind it as it slowly moved its head from side to side, considering its next move.

There was something burning behind the skull, in the hollow of the mouth, some sort of power building there.

Madarame had seen it too. “On your mark, sir,” he said to Kuchiki-taichou. There wasn’t going to be any sort of manly single combat here. They had to take it down before it could give the alarm.

Kuchiki-taichou looked at the creature.

The creature looked at him.

“Stand down,” he said.

“What?” Kurosaki-kun demanded. He held his oversized blade as casually as if it was a butter knife.

“I said, stand down.” Kuchiki-kun’s voice was as toneless as ever. He slid his zanpakutou back into its sheath, not looking away from the creature, still meeting its gaze. “Everyone is to sheath their blades and stand back.”

“Sir –“ Madarame began.

“Fools.” Kuchiki-taichou took a step forward, extending an empty hand. “It seems that you are all fools and blind. Renji.” He addressed the creature. “Renji, to me. Now. Obey.”

No, Nanao thought numbly. No, it couldn’t be, Aizen _couldn’t_ have . . .

And the creature obeyed. It moved forward slowly, in a dangerous stalk that was a hundred miles away from Abarai-fukutaichou’s habitual fast careless stride, not looking away from Kuchiki-taichou. The burning light inside its mouth flickered and began to pale, losing cohesion.

Another pace. It was within clawing distance of Kuchiki-taichou now. Nobody had sheathed their swords as they had been ordered to. Nobody had even moved.

Another.

And then the creature bowed its head, going down on its flexed knees, and curled itself in a ball at Kuchiki-taichou’s dirty feet.

\---  



	42. Ukitake: Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shade of Barragan comes after Jyuushiro and Isane, and Soi Fong and Ushoda Hachigen come to their rescue. -- by liralenli

**Title** : Jyuushiro: Falling

  


"Run, Isane," Jyuushiro croaked. He felt Isane falter and then throw herself forward on wobbling legs.

That was when he realized two powers were veering at them from the white walls of the city. One Soi Fong, impatient and sharp, the other...

Jyuushiro had known about the Vizards after the War, known about the ragged remains of the Hollowfied Captains and Vice-Captains and how they'd taken the brunt of a surprise attack by Barragan. He hadn't, however, been told that Ushoda Hachigen had survived the encounter. Jyuushiro savored the flavor of battlements and stolid walls that moved ponderously in the wake of Soi Fong's singing speed.

Isane veered toward the signatures like a startled doe toward the safety of thick woods. Behind them the kidou shattered, and Jyuushiro risked a glimpse back. The shade was coming after them, no faster than before, but there was now the first hint of a powerful intent. He could feel it shift when a bone-horned crown moved and glowing eyes regarded the two coming to their rescue. Power. It would be attracted to their power as well.

Feeling how Isane fought for each flash step, each landing, Jyuushiro coldly noted that her strides were shortening. Isane's speed was diminishing rapidly after this brutally long run. She was doing far better than he could, and he might burden her to both their deaths. He was using Isane's legs for ones that trembled and buckled, her lungs for ones that flinched and contracted from the bitter winter air. The wounds he'd sustained from Gin's shots were bleeding the heat and life from him, but there was no time to stop and close them properly.

They broke free of the forest, and the shining expanse of a river flowed before them. The far bank was lost in a wreath of winter fog, and rocks near both shores churned the water white. Her reiatsu flickered like a candle in the wind, but she put her head down, gathered herself, and tried to step across the water.

About two-thirds of the way across, they came down on the surface of the water, instead of the far shore. Isane cried out in dismay and lost her footing. Jyuushiro deliberately let go. When he splashed into the frigid waters, the breath was driven from Jyuushiro's lungs by the depth and ferocity of the cold. His body, however, knew instinctively what to do. Sogyo no Kotowari woke up with a vengeance, and the zanpakutou's spirits lent their strength. Instead of struggling, Jyuushiro followed the movement of the river, letting it thrust Jyuushiro back up to the surface. The swift current took them away from the reinforcements coming from the city.

Isane bumped against him with a shocked gasp. "Sorry, sir."

"It's all right." Jyuushiro reassured, breathlessly. "Hang onto me." Her arms closed about Jyuushiro's body, the broken one bulky and clumsy with its split. Jyuushiro hung onto Isane's good arm and frog-kicked to balance them in the flow. With Sogyo no Kotowari's help, after one bumpy set of swift rapids, Jyuushiro found an eddy current that pushed them both toward shore.

Bumping into the shallow, muddy bank, Isane's grip fell slack, and Jyuushiro let go of his hold. Jyuushiro rolled onto the ground and crawled up the steep earth, grabbing at the gnarled roots of a dead willow that loomed over the water. His chattering teeth rattled his skull. Isane collapsed beside him.

That was when the shade that was following them arrived on the far bank, put its head back and howled. Isane groaned and sat up, drawing her zanpakutou with her right hand. Ignoring his body's travails, Jyuushiro built the simplest fire kidou in his mind and fired it at the dead tree that sprawled by them on the bank. Fire crawled over gnarled, broken limbs, punk smoked, and flame flickered, flared, and, to Jyuushiro's relief, caught. A wave of heat rolled over them, bringing relief.

With a jangle of sound, the bony skeleton in Viking armor used sonido to cross the river.

"Itegumo, tackle," Isane commanded around chattering teeth. White ice streaked the air on a collision course with the jumping Barragan. The rising fog turned solid, and there was an awful crack of sound when the attacking creature hit the improvised barrier. There was crash of something big against the ice, and then a loud splash.

Isane collapsed even as the wall of frozen fog rotted and slid down, a thousand shards of ice cascading into the river. A gleam of motion under the water made Jyuushiro sigh, a reflection of the fire against polished bone. It was a good delay, and gathering Isane's unconscious body close, he thought it might be enough.

Soi Fong alighted on the shore.

"Ukitake-taichou."

"Soi Fong." Jyuushiro's voice didn't shake nearly as much as he feared it would. He was glad of small mercies, while facing Soi Fong's measuring gaze.

"Momo said something about Barragan," Soi Fong stated in icy tones.

Barragan had been the downfall of her entire division, as well as the reason Soi Fong had lost her arm and her Vice-Captain. Jyuushiro measured his words carefully before using them. There were plenty of reasons for her to go off half-cocked on what could be a very dangerous enemy.

"Aye. I believe that this is all that's left of him." Jyuushiro stilled his shivering in the rising warmth of the fire, and watched as bubbles broke the surface in a stream headed for them. "I'm not sure what happened to reduce him so, but Gin pulled it out of a flask when he died."

Soi Fong pursed her lips.

"So Gin _is_ dead," Soi Fong stated, but Jyuushiro heard the question underneath.

"Aye. And the city?"

"Ours."

"Good." That finished all of the Soul Society tasks. What the Academy's children did in Hueco Mundo or on the living earth would be done with or without him. "We're almost done," Jyuushiro said and felt all the more tired for hearing it stated.

"Almost, aye, just this piece of trash to take out," Soi Fong answered with a nod.

The thing that had once been Barragan broke the surface. Without even a change of expression, Soi Fong flew at the shade, striking with unsheathed zanpakutou and all her considerable power, just as she had at the beginning of the fight in the fake Karakura Town. The thing rocked back with her first kick.

Jyuushiro wanted to cry out in warning, but realized that Soi Fong knew more about her opponent than he did. She had faced its inceptor and wanted her pride back. Her foot didn't disintegrate on mere contact. Without her arm, she couldn't do kidou. There was only her power and speed at dodging the thing. The Barragan fragment, however, like its originator, didn't seem to be able to age things that hit it, only what it deliberately touched.

It started firing black bolts of destruction at Soi Fong's ducking and dodging form, and Jyuushiro realized that the run through the forest had allowed it to regain more of Barragan's abilities. The bolts were much smaller than Barragan's, but when they hit grass or wood, the living material blew away as ash.

One of the bolts smacked into the bank, causing it to crumble and roll into the river. Isane moaned, rolled, and nearly followed it into the water. Jyuushiro dragged Isane a few more yards onto solid ground and knelt beside her to try and catch his breath. Then Jyuushiro tried to build a shielding kidou for them both, knowing the consequences of a bare bolt striking them. As he struggled, a bright blue wall of energy suddenly rose around him and the exhausted girl.

Ushoda Hachigen touched down, as graceful and ponderous as a whale in deep waters. He bowed low to Jyuushiro, who still knelt on the grass. Without even trying to get up from where he sat seiza, Jyuushiro inclined his head and body to the ex-Lieutenant of the Kidou Corps. This close, Jyuushiro could see that Ushoda's bulk had been greatly reduced, skin hung loose about belly and limbs, and he wondered how long the kidou expert had been starved. It was a classical way to control one of those gifted with soul powers.

"Ushoda-san. It is good to see you again."

"Likewise, sir."

The soft voice was no different, nor the deferential, friendly tone. The cruel treatment hadn't truly changed the soul Jyuushiro remembered. He smiled and got an answering, calm smile. It was good to have known qualities on his side.

A splatter of black energy struck the bright blue wall and eroded it like acid burning through fabric. Soi Fong appeared and disappeared in a series of motions so quick that even he could not quite follow them all. Most of them were evasion, but she managed a few more solid hits that made the Barragan shade roar in frustration. From the light of the fire, Jyuushiro saw that the skeleton had filled in with white ghost flesh under white armor. It was growing more coherent the more it destroyed.

"Do you wish to leave, sir?" Ushoda asked.

"No."

"It would be a simple matter to lift both of you out of here, sir, and then Soi Fong-taichou and I might finish this job." Ushoda peered at the ragged edges of his shield and smoothed a hand over the gap, closing it.

"I must see this through: it is the last thing that must be done," Jyuushiro said regretfully, watching Soi Fong send the thing flying back into the water, only to have it come out faster. Worse yet, the surface of the river wrinkled, fell in, and blackened in its wake, and he could see that it had filled in more solidly, muscles flexing, skin whole, but it showed only a blank slab of bone for a face. "It will destroy everything in its path and find strength in the destruction."

"I know. I met him," Ushoda said shortly. Jyuushiro was surprised to catch a flash of killing intent so strong that it took an effort to keep from flinching or drawing. "He killed most of my clan, sir. I wish my vengeance. This thing, however, lacks the old God-King's intent." The irony in the tone was exquisite.

"Something must have taken Barragan apart." Jyuushiro frowned, realizing that the fragment, while it did keep coming on like some automaton, wasn't as strong as he remembered. Of course, Jyuushiro and the others weren't nearly as strong as on that day, either. "Likely Aizen couldn't keep from experimenting further. You are correct, there is no longer a personality behind the construct, but what's left seems to be quite deadly."

"Yes, so the aging with a touch hasn't changed. Soi Fong's technique is admirable." Ushoda studied the blur of the fight. "It must be very difficult for a Captain to do her best to avoid even the smallest of blows."

"She is also hindered by..."

"... the lack of an arm. I see. Shall I attempt assistance? Or would her honor..."

"She is Onmitsukidou." Jyuushiro was pleased to see Ushoda relax. Once a part of the secret police, the man knew that strictures of honor were viewed more practically within the ninja corps than they were among those that aspired to samurai levels of pride. "Please do," Jyuushiro continued, "I suspect that if you trap it, she might be able to do something particularly nasty to it."

"And I have had plans on how to trap Barragan for months," Ushoda murmured. "But I wouldn't want to waste those efforts on just a shade."

Ushoda bowed his head over his hands, and he chanted quickly. The golden triangle of a Break-thrust Tri-flash flew. The flare of power slammed the shade of Barragan against the vast trunk of a mighty tree. The whole tree shook with the force of the blow, groaning as the nearer roots lifted above the ground. The shade struggled against the bark, looking like a bug that had been turned upside down on its shell of armor.

Soi Fong paused. The air swirled about her in larger and larger circles, following the curve of her one palm. The stance and motions were reminiscent of what Jyuushiro had seen Kuukaku do, and do well. The woman gathered power about her like any other might gather a cloak. The swirl of dust and dry leaves drew higher and higher, and the shoulders and back of her uniform blew off in the high wind that suddenly burst from her small frame. The power tasted of...

"Kidou?" Jyuushiro blinked. "How..."

Ushoda ignored Jyuushiro, sweat beading on his broad forehead, turning pink hair dark with dampness. His golden shield was blackening around the edges, rotting away from the attack of the thing under it.

Above the trapped shade, Soi Fong used a throwing motion, and a comet leaped from her palm. Jyuushiro recalled a far younger Yoruichi, talking with Jyuushiro about the possibilities of a technique that employed the control of hand-to-hand combat but all the power a soul could bring to kidou. No spells, no words, just body movement to gather and use the very same energy. This must be the child of that odd union.

Jyuushiro was impressed when the hit shook the whole grove of trees, made the river splash across its banks, and lit the nearby evening sky white. A scream of pain and rage sounded from the thrashing bug, and then the whole tree crumbled away, dumping the whirling thing onto the ground.

It bounced up, one arm hanging at an unhealthy angle, and came at Jyuushiro and Ushoda. Soi Fong landed by them, feet spread for balance. The wind buffeted Jyuushiro, and he was very glad that he was already on the ground. Jyuushiro saw, approvingly, that she took her time, aimed and loosed another bolt of power.

The damned thing dodged, coming straight at Jyuushiro, claws and jaws outstretched.

Jyuushiro couldn't even get his zanpakutou out of its sheath. Fetid breath stirred Jyuushiro's hair, but steel whistled, gleamed, and stabbed into the shade's gut, driving an agonized grunt out of the thing. Jyuushiro looked down and saw Isane on one knee, other foot extended behind her for balance and leverage. Isane's blade whipped out, sideways, black blood spraying in an arc, landing hissing on loam and wood. The Barragan shade staggered and dropped back on one knee.

Isane followed with the automatic flick of the wrist, sending the blood on the blade off into the night. Before Jyuushiro's horrified eyes, Isane wiped her blade against the wrist of her cast.

Soi Fong landed hard in an ungraceful sprawl by the girl.

"Hold out your hand!" Soi Fong snapped.

Isane stared at Soi Fong, until Soi Fong ripped the sleeve from Isane's arm and tapped the elbow on its reflex point hard enough that Isane involuntarily shot her broken arm straight out with a cry of pain. The cast, soft skin, and flesh were melting from her bones. Isane screamed, Suzumebachi flashed, and Isane's forearm and hand flew off and disintegrated, the ground blackening where it landed.

Ushoda was working on another spell. Fingers flew and his low voice intoned poetry and power. Out of the corner of an eye, Jyuushiro watched brilliant rails of light slide from nowhere, multiply, and then flash into motion, pinning the shade.

Jyuushiro grabbed Isane's arm, pressing tight to stop the spurts of blood. He whipped off his sash to wind about the stump. Soi Fong swore, bitter, long, and with vitriol that should have eaten away at the Hollow as its blood had eaten at Isane. Knowing the shade was held, Jyuushiro placed all his attention to tending Isane's wound. He twisted the sash tight with a stick from the ground, and sighed in relief when the gushing slowed to a mere trickle.

"Itegumo," Isane moaned. "Is he...?"

Jyuushiro plucked Isane's blade from its scabbard with his free hand, and he felt Isane calm through the contact of Jyuushiro's hand on her soul. It was a rare thing to handle another's zanpakutou, but she was so frantic that the touch brought her solace with its intimacy.

"He's here," Jyuushiro said. The blade looked whole, but when he tilted it to the light of the moon, there were dark, matte blemishes. "There's rust, but it's not growing. You cleaned it off in time. Your zanpakutou is all right. Thank you for striking, Isane, you saved me with your sacrifice."

Isane sagged against Jyuushiro's chest, sobbing. Gently, he resheathed her sword into her scabbard.

"Now what, Captain?" Soi Fong asked, sounding baffled. "It keeps getting up and coming after us, no matter what we do, and the more barriers it eats the stronger it seems to be getting."

Ushoda snarled, and one of the planks of light snapped and shattered into a thousand shards.

"How are you for bankai?" Jyuushiro asked, and quietly wrapped Isane up against his body, where she trembled in reaction.

Soi Fong shook her head. "There isn't anything here that I can anchor to, and the resultant blast would be useless as it would fling me away so quickly as to dilute the blow. Besides, my weighted armor is also long gone."

"What if Ushoda-san could make an enclosure to hold all that power?"

"At this point, I'd have to be in there with it," Soi Fong said grimly. "I'm willing to do that if it's the only way, but I'm not even entirely sure it would work."

"I can build an enclosure to hold Soi Fong-taichou's bankai." Ushoda turned his head with effort. "But I must warn you. I'm not as strong as I want to be after my imprisonment."

Jyuushiro's brain raced down another path of possibility. Ushoda's barriers were holding much longer than any of the kidou experts had been able to hold the whole Barragan. What if it really was weaker than the original? Still strong enough to bring them all down. The more power the shade gathered, the greater it would become, but if they could just instantaneously kill it...

"What about your shikai, Soi Fong?"

"I don't want to touch that thing." Soi Fong shook her head.

"And, obviously, if you do hit, its blood seems quite as capable of doing what it could not." Jyuushiro held Isane's tourniquet tight.

Another shaft pinged into non-existence, the shards raining down like a fall of crystal rain.

"What if Ushoda trapped it so you could reach it without being touched?"

"So I can hit it while it's down?" Soi Fong's lips drew back from sharp teeth. "It is the Onmitsukidou Way, sir." She took a half step away from Jyuushiro, drew her sword in and murmured, "Suzumebachi, sting all enemies to death!"

Soi Fong's slender wakazashi shone with spirit light, glowing bright and brighter still, until Jyuushiro had to look away. The light faded to reveal Soi Fong with Suzumebachi wrapped about her remaining hand. The point gleaming gold and sharp, the guard black along her forearm. Then she disappeared in a flash-step to the struggling thing. Gray cracks were beginning to show in the rails of light.

Without hesitation, Soi Fong stabbed at the writhing figure. A black butterfly bloomed on the surface of the dead-white skin and nearly as quickly flashed away.

Soi Fong cried out in surprise. "What?! It's supposed to last...."

More planks shattered in a sudden cascade of broken power. The bleeding, snarling shade started fighting in earnest. Only two more planks held the madly flailing prisoner. A possibility sprung to Jyuushiro's mind, and he tried to stand up, but Isane was in his lap. Isane flinched, but she continued the motion, rolling off Jyuushiro, her hand holding the tie that stopped the bleeding. Grateful for her reading his need, Jyuushiro rose on unsteady feet.

"Bakudou Strike at me!" Jyuushiro barked at Ushoda.

"At you?" Ushoda's widened eyes narrowed.

As all experienced kidou spell casters could do, the single digit level spell burst from Ushoda's hands as quickly as Jyuushiro unleashed Sogyo no Kotowari. The red light of the barrier flashed toward Jyuushiro, and he caught the spell. The Barragan shade broke free and launched itself directly at Jyuushiro. Grimly, he aimed the other sword at the on-coming shade. The singed charms lit up, multiplying the strength of the magic, and the spell flashed forth, bathing the shade in red light.

It froze.

"That should buy us a little time," Jyuushiro wheezed, and did the unforgivable by putting both points of his swords into the earth and using them as crutches to keep himself standing. Sogyo no Kotowari's voices murmured soothing phrases in favor of him not falling. Jyuushiro grinned at his own pride. "Ushoda-san, please use the time to bind it tighter, please? Soi Fong, please try again?

Ushoda sat seiza on the bank, and this time he went through all the passes, his intent and focus dredging up a mountain of energy. Soi Fong gathered herself, and Jyuushiro felt the air move his hair in response. The sting of Suzumebachi flashed in the darkness. The crest bloomed, and Soi Fong's fist slowed.

Jyuushiro wanted to yell in frustration - had she not understood? Why was she taking so long? The crest faded and Soi Fong's sting moved again. Ominously, the shade writhed in the spiritual bindings on the second hit. It shouldn't have been able to recover that quickly, and with the second not exactly on the first while it was still active, the butterfly simply bloomed and withered in quick succession.

Soi Fong snarled in frustration. "It's slowing me down when I get close, just as Barragan did. I can make the crests last an hour on most opponents, but this one..."

So that was why. Jyuushiro closed his eyes, and tried to think. "Maybe Ushoda-san could make a kidou strike on a spot that would allow you to hit with your shikai, with enough power to let it stick? I cannot accelerate physical strikes, so I cannot help, but..."

"That can't work, he can't hold a binding while doing a strike."

"But two bindings can co-exist," Jyuushiro said, knowing that arguing theory at this point was just giving the enemy time to hurt them again. The shade made a twisting, writhing motion and the red glow flashed and fell.

Ushoda called out the finish of his spell, and an enormous, hexagonal cage in shining green light fell on the thing, locking the Barragan shade still within its translucent heart. Jyuushiro sighed in dismay as Ushoda fell on his side, completely drained, and all possible plans of more than one binding collapsed with him. Both Soi Fong and Jyuushiro looked at each other, and in the silence, the ping of a crack in an emerald wall sounded loud.

"Sir, there's one possibility." Isane's quiet voice surprised Jyuushiro. She was sitting, holding her elbow; and she was steady, far more steady than Jyuushiro had ever seen her since she'd lost Unohana. "Use its blood, Soi Fong-taichou. Dip your tip in its blood and hit it with itself. Twice to make sure your poison works."

"But the blood's also going to..."

Soi Fong stopped herself from finishing the sentence, as if that would change what would be, and, instead, ran to Barragan. More cracks zipped across the face of the enormous trapping kidou. Soi Fong kicked at a weakened section, once, twice, making a hole. The thing within struggled mightily, a web of cracks suddenly appearing and the whole structure groaned in protest. Ushoda groaned as well, on the ground, and Jyuushiro suddenly realized that the man had collapsed in order to concentrate on holding the spell as best he could. He put a hand on the big man's shoulder, feeling bone where there had once been padded muscle.

Bracing against the swaying wall, Suzumebachi flashed forward, and then slowed, until it looked as if she and Soi Fong were caught in honey. Every muscle in that slim form tightened, stood in stark relief, the bare skin of her shoulders and arm were white in the moonlight, the glint of gold bright. Sweat popped from her forehead, tension and effort made her grimace, but her zanpakutou moved inexorably forward.

Until it came within an inch of touching a splatter of blood on leather armor. Soi Fong swore in earnest, redoubling her efforts. The thing in the cage bared white teeth and laughed.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Jyuushiro hobbled forward. If there was any way he could use any part of who and what he was to help her, he had to do it now.

_Sogyo no Kotowari, I am in need of your strength, my friends._

_Aye, sir, we are with you. What do you wish?_

_We need to cut through his power, get a dab of its blood, and lead the way for Suzumebachi._

In answer, Sogyo no Kotowari's power flooded through Jyuushiro, washing away all of Jyuushiro's pain. He straightened, breathing deep, and he was forcibly reminded of how Yamamoto always looked straighter, stronger, with release. Was he now the Old Man? For an aching instant, Jyuushiro longed for his old companions. For Yamamoto, for Unohana, and most of all for Shunsui, constant battle companion for nearly all his long life.

Looking up, Jyuushiro saw the far horizon: the sun touched the edge of the mountains, turning the entire sky into a bonfire of light. Jyuushiro flash-stepped to where Soi Fong crouched. The structure swayed under them as Barragan fought Ushoda's spell. This close, Jyuushiro could see the broad build, the Hollow's hole, the empty shield of a face, and the cruel fangs on too-long jaws. Jyuushiro braced himself behind Soi Fong, and set one tip of Sogyo no Kotowari on either side of the trapped Suzumebachi.

"Soi Fong, I'm going to get his blood on the tips of my sword, and will use them to strike through his power. You and Suzumebachi are going to make sure he dies. Hit him in the space I open." The phrasing brought down a cascade of memories of how Jyuushiro's skills had opened up enemies' defenses for Shunsui to exploit, and Jyuushiro took strength from the flood. Suddenly, it felt as if Shunsui were standing at Jyuushiro's side, ready.

"Aye, sir."

Jyuushiro and Sogyo no Kotowari pushed forward, sliding quickly along the sides of Suzumebachi, where Soi Fong had already opened a way. When they reached the end of Soi Fong's blade, the resistance turned solid, like trying to push a sword through solid stone. Jyuushiro thought of fissures, of cracks, of minute areas of weakness and sharpened his will to open them. He got his center behind his efforts and threw weight and power along with muscle and bone. He felt Sogyo no Kotoware thrash in the back of his soul, shining skin and heaving muscle _moved_ , and they were inching forward.

Shining tips touched black blood pooled on ancient leather.

"Back now," Jyuushiro said.

Soi Fong grunted and her small weight was lent to his. They both pulled back, and Jyuushiro found the resistance just as intractable. He could feel Barragan's blood eating at Sogyo no Kotoware as the bright steel tips smoked and blackened. The agony of his sword's spirits flickered and flared with the too-quick beats of his own thundering heart. Jyuushiro's arms and shoulders burned, and Jyuushiro could taste his sword spirit's fear and fury as if they were his own.

Suddenly the resistance released both of them, and Jyuushiro nearly landed on his ass. Soi Fong swore a blue streak, but recovered faster, her balance less badly blown than Jyuushiro's. She was at least still in the barrier. He got up on shaking legs and settled behind her again.

"Together," Jyuushiro murmured.

"Together," Soi Fong echoed.

This time it was swifter. The steady progress pushed back Jyuushiro's tunnel vision, allowed him to see everything before him, not just the point of contact.

The shade looked nearly complete. The terrible rent Isane had inflicted on Barragan's gut and side was knitting together. Where Ushoda's bakudou touched the shade, the clear surfaces were crumbling, and tiny pieces cascaded away like water running through a sieve.

Pain, and worse than pain, the terror of not-being came to him through Sogyo no Kotowari. The sharp edge on each tip was flaking away, but the blackness was not just destroying the steel of Jyuushiro's soul, it was melting away the time hold that Barragan was imposing on them all. They slid forward toward wrinkled, white skin.

Barragan bellowed when the points touched an inch apart from each other and the shade's skin yielded more of the black liquor. The golden point of Suzumebachi's stinger touched, and a black flower bloomed. This close, Jyuushiro felt the clawing of disintegrating power as Barragan pushed to slow them from contacting him again.

"All waves, rise now and become my shield," Jyuushiro whispered.

Jyuushiro felt Sogyo no Kotowari rise to the call, the power flowing, agony and death forgotten or set aside as the small things they were compared to their need to protect. Holding back the time slip Barragan tried to impose, they drew back a fraction of an inch. Jyuushiro felt the attempt at trickery again, of the release of pressure as they pulled, but he and Sogyo no Kotowari refused the pitfall. With millennium of practice at following through, they both fell forward again.

The shade screamed in protest. Sogyo no Kotowari's crumbling points left rust marks on yielding skin, pressed, and this time it was Barragan's black blood that caught on the white skin and burned holes. Suzumebachi followed their lead, and Jyuushiro felt Soi Fong tremble against his chest as she braced against him and pushed the golden point into the heart of the flower she'd left before. Another bloom appeared, over the first, the two combined, expanded, and then exploded into an enormous, red four-lobed butterfly.

The butterfly blasted the shade, and its red killing shockwave shook the world. Ushoda's barrier held for an instant, and in that moment it caught the shockwave and sent all of its energy back at the Barragan shade trapped within it. The hole that they'd made acted like a cannon, focusing the reflected blast and flinging Soi Fong and Jyuushiro away. Then the entire edifice shattered.

Trying to protect Soi Fong with his body, Jyuushiro instinctively curled his larger bulk about her slender self. So he was able to see, as the structure fell apart, that Barragan's shade fell with it. The white flesh, shining bone, and black fur all withered away to dust and ash, which whirled away with the last of the light from the setting sun, disappearing behind the mountains.

It was finished. Jyuushiro was done.

The ground slammed into Jyuushiro; and he lost his grip on Soi Fong, on his swords, and, finally, on his consciousness. His last thought, as the sunset world faded away, was that he only wished he might have seen Shunsui once more.

\-----------


	43. Nanao, Renji: Tunnel Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe, at the bottom of everything else, there is hope. -- by incandescens

**TUNNEL VISION**

Nanao sagged with the release of tension, lowering her hand and letting the force that had been building inside her drain away and dissipate. A little too late, she noticed that Madarame and Yadomaru-sempai were still alert, and she reproached herself for not being as careful as they were.

The creature – she still didn’t want to think of it as Abarai-fukutaichou – let out a long wheezing sigh, relaxing, and curled up on the ground, its hair brushing against Kuchiki-taichou’s feet. Abruptly it was pitiful rather than dangerous.

“Inoue-kun –“ Nanao began, but Kurosaki-kun had already grabbed her arm and was shoving her forward to inspect the – the victim, Nanao decided. That was as close as she could come to wanting to consider what had been done to a man she knew. It was one thing to technically believe that it might be possible. It was entirely different to see Abarai Renji like this.

She didn’t try to join the crowd around the victim, but instead stepped back. She was quite certain that her own kidou wouldn’t be sufficient to untangle a mutilation like this.

And there was something else troubling her. She _shouldn’t_ have been able to hear Suzumushi. She’d handled other people’s zanpakutou before, of course – you could hardly live your entire life in Seireitei and never touch one – but she’d never had one actually intrude on her like that. Common sense urged her to say something about it at once, and to drop the blade, or hand it over to someone else, or drag it behind on a ten-foot rope. Anything that would avoid close contact with it.

“I think –“ Inoue-kun began tentatively. “I think that if I try to heal him –“

But curiosity told Nanao to wait. Curiosity told her that possibly Suzumushi had something useful to contribute. Did she really want to be the one who threw away a Captain’s zanpakutou and let a possible advantage slip out of their fingers, simply because she was afraid?

(Or was she simply deceiving herself by trying to make a heroic drama out of the situation? Or was it something else trying to deceive her?)

The problem with thoughts going round in circles was that it was very difficult to break out of the circle. That had always been one of Kyouraku-taichou’s strengths. He knew when to stop thinking, and when to act.

“How much of your strength will it take?” Hisagi asked Inoue-kun. He looked, Nanao thought remotely, even worse than before. She didn’t know what he had been through. She didn’t _want_ to know what he had been through. It would only distract her.

Inoue-kun put her finger to her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know, but we can’t leave him like this . . .”

Kuchiki-taichou tilted his head a little. “Your strength is important?” he questioned Inoue-kun.

“Could be, sir,” Madarame said. He didn’t look quite as sick as Hisagi did, but he didn’t look happy either. He looked like a man who had just taken a sharp-tasting dose and was waiting for the effects to hit. His face was hollowed out by weariness, shadowed by anger –

 _That’s not how I think_ , Nanao said to herself, in the silence of her mind where she could hear it. The corridor lights were bright and dark. She had to master herself. She just needed to think about this for a little while, in peace and quiet, without these constant interruptions . . .

Inoue-kun’s imploring eyes caught her gaze, and she bit her lip and stepped forward. There was no _time_ for this. “Inoue-kun can cause effects that should otherwise be impossible, sir. She managed to assist Kurosaki-kun, and purify Grimmjow –“

“Wimpify,” came a mutter from Grimmjow’s direction.

“—and she was able to negate some pieces of Aizen’s kidou,” Nanao continued, with the practice that came from many years of talking over her Captain’s interjections. “She may be able to reverse whatever has been done to Abarai-fukutaichou.”

“Um... Madoka-san is almost out of sight over here,” Hanatarou put in weakly. “Should we follow her?”

Kuchiki-taichou glanced down at Abarai, and then across at Inoue-kun. Then he looked at Nanao. “Follow that woman and locate any other prisoners, then return to me,” he ordered her. “Inoue will work to restore Renji.”

“I’ll stay too,” Kurosaki-kun said firmly. “You might need help.”

Rather than ask what sort of help Kurosaki-kun could possibly offer, Kuchiki-taichou nodded. “Very good. Hoshibana, you will keep us informed of each others’ movements.”

“Yes, Kuchiki-taichou,” Hoshibana said thickly. His voice wavered on the edge of breaking.

“C’mon,” Madarame said, grabbing Nanao’s arm and pulling her along. His free hand was curled into a fist. “Let’s get this over as fast as we can.”

Nanao ignored the quick glance that Yadomaru-sempai sent her, and let Madarame tug her along. They were a few steps away from the rest, who were strung out in an uneven rabble, with Hisagi and Grimmjow at the beginning, Hanatarou loitering in the middle, apparently not wanting to be at the front or the back, and Ayasegawa and Yadomaru-sempai at the rear. “Listen,” she began quietly.

Madarame turned to glare at her. “Look, I know it may not work, but what if it _does_? Even if the Inoue girl gets tired, if she can manage it, then we’ve got another man with bankai to throw at Aizen.”

“More than that,” Nanao said softly.

He bit back something that he was about to say, then scrubbed at his head with his hand, wiping away some of the dust. “Yeah. Fuck. It gets too easy to think like that, doesn’t it? You suppose Yamamoto-soutaichou ever thought that way?”

Nanao adjusted her glasses. “Before you all went to the fake Karakura,” she said slowly, “Kyouraku-taichou said that Yamamoto-soutaichou had said that he might need to take the ultimate sanction to stop Aizen. He said that everyone who was included on the mission was aware of that.”

“Yeah,” Madarame said, lowering his voice again. “We all knew. If it all went south and he had to take out the entire place, and us with it –“

“So we all know that, here and now,” Nanao said. “All of us here are aware that we may need to sacrifice everything.” She touched his hand for a moment. “But that doesn’t mean that . . .” The words were difficult. “It doesn’t mean that we can’t hope to save our friends.”

Madarame deliberately ignored her touch, though she felt his muscles shift in what was a kind of acknowledgement. He looked ahead at Madoka. “Yeah,” he said quietly, more gently now. “Point taken.”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Nanao said, keeping her voice at the same conversational level.

He flicked a sideways glance at her. “Is it serious?”

“Either Suzumushi is awake and trying to contact me and control me, or I am hallucinating,” Nanao said. She adjusted her glasses again. “I hope that I’m not hallucinating.”

“I could pinch you,” Madarame said smugly, though his eyes narrowed.

“I would break my captain’s hand if he tried, and you lack his experience,” Nanao said coldly. “And do not take that as a personal challenge.”

“Naah. Gotta tell you, Ise, I like them bouncier than you. Don’t take it as a personal insult.”

Nanao felt her mouth pull into a thin almost-smile. “And about Suzumushi?”

“You’ve had decades of saying no to your captain,” Madarame said. “You’re not like Hisagi. I’m trusting you to know when to tell us if it gets serious.”

The corridor was darker than it had been, but Nanao felt reassured by how simply and straightforwardly he put it. “Thank you,” she said.

“You think it’d help us?” Madarame’s question was a little too careful.

Nanao remembered Tousen-taichou’s face at the Execution Scaffold, that day last year, in the blazing sunlight, and the absolute blankness and refusal in his voice as Komamura-taichou had called out to him. That persistent determination, the sort of thing that could lie hidden for over a hundred years in order to claim a bloody vengeance . . . “I think that Suzumushi understands all about revenge,” she said, her voice just as careful as Madarame’s own. _And is it listening to us now? Will it answer?_

“You gonna tell Hisagi?”

Nanao blinked. “I can’t see that would help matters,” she said briskly.

“No, me neither.” He sighed, with a long lazy lift and roll of his shoulders. “Shit, why’d they never tell us about any of this stuff before?”

“You mean – zanpakutou stuff?” There were so many things that he could have meant.

“Yeah. Not that I’ve ever had any problems with, you know, my one.” His hand brushed the hilt of his own zanpakutou. “Nice and straightforward, that’s us. Now with you . . .” He let the words trail off, inviting confidences if she chose to give them.

“Mine . . .” Nanao felt the usual unwillingness to discuss something so private. _And he asks why they don’t tell us about this. How much do we want to tell anyone else about it?_ “Has always been remarkably uncommunicative unless I could come up with the right questions.”

“Has it got any opinion on, you know?” He glanced down at Suzumushi.

“I don’t think it wants to get involved,” Nanao said slowly. “But when Hisagi was possessed by his own zanpakutou – you remember, when we found the other zanpakutou? – he seemed actively repulsed by Suzumushi.”

“Yeah.” Madarame thought about that. “But then again, that could be personal.”

“But Hisagi _liked_ Tousen,” Nanao pointed out. “Before, well. You know.”

“Point.” He frowned. “And I’m not getting anything from Hozukimaru. And we don’t have a few hours spare for me to try to reach him.”

“It’d be nice to be able to communicate freely with your zanpakutou all the time,” Nanao said, a little bitterly.

“Wait.” He was suddenly all business. “Madoka’s stopped.”

Nanao broke into flash step, catching up with Madoka as she finished turning to face a door. The woman drew another key from her sash as Madarame joined them. She was inserting the key into the lock as everyone else crowded around.

“Get the fuck back,” Madarame directed crisply. “Same protocol as last time.”

Nanao had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep her face calm and her breathing steady. Yadomaru-fukutaichou was managing to look perfectly calm, but then she had so much more experience. She couldn’t bear to think of it being Kyouraku-taichou in there. She couldn’t bear to think of it _not_ being him in there.

In that moment of weakness, of vacillation, something insinuated itself into her mind, sliding into her thoughts like a pane of glass between her and the outside. It was all black and white, all monochrome, and it sought to distance her from herself, to set her aside and fill her with itself. She looked down a tunnel at the scene around her, and she was a thousand miles away, and . . .

The door swung open.

Kyouraku-taichou sat in the corner of the cell. As with Kuchiki-taichou, his wrists were bound and there was a collar around his neck.

He was fast asleep.

He was leaning against the wall. He was snoring.

He was in plain black. He was scruffy and unkempt and she thought there might even be dust on the hems of his hakama. Stubble showed dark on his cheeks. His hair hung lank down his back, stripped of its usual tie, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

He was snoring.

Madarame’s hand clamped on Nanao’s arm, but she _certainly_ would not have been so stupid as to just run in there screaming, “Kyouraku-taichou!” and disregard every bit of common sense she possessed. She was mildly offended that he even thought she would do such a thing, in the back of her mind where she still had space for mild offense. The situation came back into bright clear focus, precise and definite.

Yadomaru-sempai bumped against her on the other side, peering over her shoulder as they watched Madoka go through the same set of motions. Kyouraku-taichou continued to snore in a gentlemanly way, apparently so habituated to such visits that they didn’t even wake him.

With an effort, Nanao slowed her breathing. “Same protocol,” she breathed in a whisper. “Let her get out and then we’ll go in there.”

“You figure there’s anyone else besides?” Madarame whispered. It was stupid. They’d spoken loudly enough when they were freeing Kuchiki-taichou. But apparently nobody wanted to wake Kyouraku-taichou from his nap.

“If the rest of you follow Madoka –“

Madoka walked out of the cell. Still calm, still composed, still utterly unseeing, she locked the door. Then she turned to start back the way that she had come.

“Right,” Nanao said, raising her voice a little. “Madarame, if you and –“

“Me, Boy Blue, and Yumichika,” Madarame filled in. “You can keep Hanatarou here, and Hisagi can fill Kyouraku-taichou in on events once you wake him up.”

“I notice you’re not mentioning me,” Yadomaru-sempai put in.

“I’m not stupid,” Madarame said. “And I’m not going to try to talk his own vice-captain out of being there when you wake him up.” He looked smug for a moment, then shot a quick nervous glance at Nanao, obviously having just realised that he might have said something awkward.

Nanao ignored it, and just nodded. “Cover me while I see to the lock,” she said, kneeling down to inspect it. Just the same locking kidou as on Kuchiki-taichou’s cell. This would be straightforward.

 _Calm_ , she reminded herself. _Stay calm. He’d expect you to be calm._

Her focus was completely on the current situation, and on the lock in front of her, and the man in the cell behind it. Suzumushi and whatever it had been trying to do were unimportant now, disregarded, blocked away; she disregarded it as completely as she would have done an irrelevant piece of paperwork that could be put off till tomorrow. Behind her, there was a rustle as Yadomaru-fukutaichou shifted her weight from one foot to another. She disregarded that as well.

The lock clicked open, and Yadomaru-fukutaichou shoved the door open, striding into the cell. “Time to get up, Kyouraku-taichou,” she said cheerfully, swinging her foot to kick him.

The kick never landed. Without ever quite opening his eyes, Kyouraku-taichou shifted position and swept his leg round to knock her off her feet. She landed on her rear, with a gasp, and he rolled forward to hook his elbow round her neck, dragging her back against his body.

His eyes flickered open. “Sosuke,” he said, as Yadomaru-taichou struggled for breath. “We’ve been through this enough times. I know this is only an illusion.” He smiled thinly, looking at Nanao and Hisagi and Hanatarou as they stood in the doorway, looking _through_ them. “So tell me. Why do you bother?”

\---

There is a conflict in his mind.

One _He_ has ordered him to run through these passages and tear apart any who are not permitted to be here. If he does that, if he can tear and cut down and let the light come out of him to blast them away, then there will be ease and it will be quiet and the light will be gentle.

But there is never anyone here. There are no _them_ for him to touch. There is no ending, no place for him to stop.

( _Rage, rage_ says one voice in his mind, and _wait_ says the other, as if from two sides of the same being.)

But the other _He_ is here now, and he has said _Renji_ , and that name is recognised, that name is known, that name is _felt_ in his bones. He could not hate this other _He_. This other _He_ knows who he is.

His name is Renji.

( _Yes_ , says one voice, and _almost_ says the other voice, and both of them are desperate now, wanting something that is so terribly close and that he cannot quite understand.)

“I’ll try . . .” A hesitating voice. One he knows. “Byakuya-san, please can you stand back a little?”

“That would be inadvisable.” _His_ voice. “Continue.”

The bright figures gather close around him. Light blossoms at two points and wraps around him, and flecks of memory coalesce and flutter into him like snowflakes or butterflies, leaving intelligence and _self_ behind them, forming a net of what _Renji_ is.

And he realises, slowly but utterly, that this is hell, and he screams.

Light pulses from his mouth and breaks the net around him. Someone ( _Inoue Orihime_ , his memories confirm) is thrown backwards as the hold of her power is broken, and she goes tumbling like a doll, and someone else ( _Kurosaki Ichigo_ , the memories say, all anger and rivalry and friendship) catches her before she hits the wall, and someone else ( _Ayasegawa Yumichika_ , a comrade in arms and a drinking friend) draws his blade.

A blow across his chest knocks him down. Kuchiki-taichou is standing there. He has his sword to Renji’s throat. His lank hair ripples in the aftermath of the blast of power. There is death in his eyes.

Renji would welcome that. “Kill me,” he whispers.

“Kill you?” Kuchiki-taichou says tonelessly. “Not unless you forget your duty again. Inoue. Continue.”

“I . . .” The girl’s voice shakes. She’s struggling to remain upright. “Please . . . I will, just let me get my breath, Byakuya-san . . .”

“She’s hurt.” Kurosaki Ichigo is angry. “Dammit, Renji, did you have to do that? She’s not even finished on you yet.”

“She’s not going to be able to.” Yumichika is helping Inoue Orihime sit down. She folds up very small, her back against the corridor wall, her chin on her knees, arms round her legs, red hair hanging loose and bright against her white clothing. “Kuchiki-taichou, if you want Inoue-san to be able to counter anything Aizen can do later, then you _have_ to let her rest now. She’s tired out.”

“I’ll be fine in a moment,” she whispers, but her voice is uncertain and her words are a lie. She can’t even convince herself. Renji can hear it, can smell it.

“Hnh.” Kuchiki-taichou’s snort is familiar. He has not looked away from Renji. “Well. Are you ready for duty, Renji?”

There is a shadow that stands behind Kuchiki-taichou. It is the shadow of his own zanpakutou. It is as clear as the times that he has seen it before: when he named it, when it came to scold him, and when he fought it to reach bankai. It looks down at him, and the two voices together say, _Have you not sworn an oath to your own soul?_

“Yes,” he whispers.

Kuchiki-taichou moves the point of his blade from Renji’s throat. He seems to find nothing strange in Renji’s current deformities, in the malformations of bone and flesh that twist him from being a shinigami into being a monster. “Then rest,” he says. “We will strike against Aizen shortly.”

Renji curls to one side, pulling himself up into a crouch. He avoids the others’ eyes, not wanting to see his own reflection in them.

He knows that there are questions to ask. What is Ayasegawa doing here, and in white clothing? Why is Kuchiki-taichou here? How will they strike against Aizen?

But for the moment the bone-deep hunger is gone, and he _can_ rest. Ease soaks through him, and even the blinding white of the walls is a little less painful.

And he knows that if Kuchiki-taichou and Kurosaki Ichigo are both here, then one way or another, Rukia is safe. He does not want to ask in what way she can be safe, not when he knows that she was captured and he remembers (that flake of memory burns) being told that she was dead, but now he knows that she is free and safe, she is beyond all this. She is not in hell, even if he is.

That lets him rest.

\---

“Kyouraku-taichou,” Yadomaru-sempai croaked, “it is me. I mean, really me.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyouraku-taichou said, in the tone that he had reserved for humouring Nanao when she was ten years old. “I’m sure you’d say that. I have to admire how well you can imitate people’s responses, Sosuke. You must have spent a great deal of time watching us. You voyeur.” It almost sounded like a friendly joke, the sort of casual ribbing he’d give a colleague.

Nanao swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Kyouraku-taichou. This is a genuine rescue. I can prove it by –“ She tried to think of something that would absolutely prove that she was herself and not an illusion of Aizen’s. Something that Aizen couldn’t possibly know about, however much he’d probably wandered around invisibly spying on people.

Hisagi twitched as if someone had jabbed a pin into him. “Katen Kyoukotsu. Your zanpakutou,” he abruptly blurted out. “They’re in her belt. Touch them and you’ll know.”

Yes. Yes, that would work. “He’s right, Kyouraku-taichou,” Nanao said. She drew herself upright and adjusted her glasses. Trying to edge forward to reassure Kyouraku-taichou might be a very bad idea while he had Yadomaru-sempai’s neck in the crook of his arm like that. “Please, sir. Just check.”

His eyes flicked down to where the blades were sheathed in Yadomaru-sempai’s sash.

Nanao wondered what he could be hesitating about. Wasn’t it the obvious thing to do?

“Lisa-chan,” Kyouraku-taichou said, very gently, “I’m going to assume for a moment that you’re not an illusion, and that you are sitting here in my lap –“

Yadomaru-sempai made a choked but indignant noise.

“That’s right. And you’re going to reach down and draw one of my blades, still in its sheath, and pass it up here so that I can lay my hand on it. Slowly and gently, Lisa-chan. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Very carefully, Yadomaru-sempai reached down and tugged the wakizashi from her sash. Her breathing was shallow and ragged as she raised it uncomfortably towards Kyouraku-taichou’s chained hands.

His fingers trembled as they brushed against it. Then his right hand closed around the sheathed blade so firmly that his knuckles showed white. He leaned backwards, raising his elbow to release Yadomaru-sempai and let her roll free.

Nanao rushed forward, stepping over Yadomaru-sempai and falling to her knees beside him. “Sir. Let me see to those bindings. Please.”

“Yes. Of course, Nanao-chan.” He coughed, his voice settling back to its usual dark velvet, and smiled at her. “Unless you and Lisa-chan want to punish me first for being late.”

Nanao snorted. So did Yadomaru-sempai.

“You are clear that we’re real, Kyouraku-taichou?” Hisagi asked. He was staying by the door, with Hanatarou nervously twitching next to him. “We’re not an illusion.”

“My Katen Kyoukotsu is scolding me for being such a fool as to doubt you, Shuuhei-kun,” Kyouraku-taichou said. He leaned back to allow Nanao closer access to his collar. “I should have known better. Even for Aizen, this combination of rescuers would have been unlikely. I don’t suppose anyone has any wine?” he added hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Nanao said through gritted teeth.

“You must be joking,” Yadomaru-sempai said simultaneously. She had picked herself off the floor and brushed herself off, and now she knelt down next to Kyouraku-taichou on the other side from Nanao. With a little flirt of her hips, she tugged out Kyouraku-taichou’s other zanpakutou and slotted it into his obi. “There you go. Sir.”

“Lisa-chan.” Kyouraku-taichou’s voice caressed the words. “I believe there’s a story I need to hear.”

There was a click as the cuffs came free from Kyouraku-taichou’s wrists, and the collar from round his throat. (Had she been quicker here than she had with Kuchiki-taichou? Nanao wasn’t sure. She mollified her conscience with the thought that she’d had the _experience_ from Kuchiki-taichou’s cuffs, so of course she’d be quicker this time round.)

“Long story,” Yadomaru-sempai said curtly. “Short version: I’m the only one of us down here, unless Hacchi’s locked up somewhere too, and the rest of us . . .” Her mouth tightened. “Aren’t a factor at the moment.”

Nanao realised with a pang of guilt that it was possible nobody had told her about Muguruma-san and the others hiding under Urahara’s shop in Karakura. Certainly she hadn’t. Had anyone else thought to do so? She wasn’t used to feeling that sort of guilt, and it kept her quiet a moment too long.

“Brisk and beautiful,” Kyouraku-taichou admitted. His gaze strayed from Yadomaru-sempai to Nanao, then back to Yadomaru-sempai again, as he slowly straightened up: he brought his hands round to rub his knuckles against the small of his back. “No mattress,” he confided to Hanatarou. “Fortunately I can sleep anywhere.”

His tone was casual, as generous and absent-minded as ever, but his heavy-lidded eyes were keen. “Shuuhei-kun, all in white? I see that you’ve all been infiltrating. Good job.” He brushed one hand over his stubbly jaw. “Nanao-chan, I would kiss you, but firstly my chin would scratch you, and secondly, I fear that you would give me the usual concussion.”

“Nice job, Nanao-chan,” Yadomaru-sempai said, slapping Nanao on the shoulder and making her blush. “I see you’ve got things well in hand.”

Nanao herself wasn’t sure what to say. Common sense told her that she should be weeping with joy that he was alive, and in relatively good health, and still -- _sane_ , the back of her mind called it with unhelpful precision, holding Kuchiki-taichou up as an example. And she was relieved beyond the ability to say so, and happier than she could acknowledge, but at the same time a cool logic kept her anchored to common sense. Perhaps, on some level, she’d never really believed that he could be dead, and that was why it was so unsurprising to find him alive. Or perhaps the situation was such that despite her own emotions, she could still see past them, and continue with her duties, focused on what _must_ be. Perhaps there was little time for joy when on a deeper level she knew that there must be vengeance.

Or perhaps, maybe, conceivably, she was able to be as much of an adult and leader as Yadomaru-sempai, and still be glad that he was alive without having to say it. After all, he _knew_ how much past hope it had been to find him here, and how far she had come to do so. He made casual talk and affection easy. It had never been easy for her.

Hisagi looked somewhere between pleased, relieved, and ill. He shifted nervously. “It’s good to see you, Kyouraku-taichou. Sir, I didn’t know you were a prisoner here . . .”

“When Sousuke locks someone up as deep in a place like this as we are now, Shuuhei-kun, the whole point is that nobody’s supposed to know they’re prisoners here. Or so I suspect. Nanao-chan, are there more of us?”

Direct questions. Intelligent questions. Nanao was so relieved that she could have sat down and hugged his legs, but that would have been inappropriate, and his hakama were rather dirty. Odd, that so white and clean a place should manage to leave its prisoners sitting in their dirt like that. “Yes, Kyouraku-taichou,” she said.

And then she remembered the most important thing, the thing that she should have said first. She kept her voice level. “Ukitake-taichou has been coordinating us. He’s active in Seireitei at the moment. They’re striking against Ichimaru. Urahara-san and Shihouin Yoruichi are holding Karakura. Madarame and I . . .”

She went on, listing the names of the others, and she could see Kyouraku-taichou nodding as he took it all in, as he gave her a proper level of attention, but with all her experience of him, she could also see the deep and desperate relief in his eyes and shoulders, the relaxation as if Ukitake-taichou himself was in the room and ready to stand by him now to fight.

“We should be moving,” Hisagi cut in. “We don’t know what’s happening with Kuchiki-taichou and Abarai-kun.”

“Hoshibana will have passed it on,” Yadomaru-sempai said. “That’s if Madarame and the others haven’t already got to them. But I agree, we have to move. We can’t rely on Aizen staying out of this for much longer.”

“Agreed,” Kyouraku-taichou said. He was at the door in a single step and a broad swing of sleeves, and then held it gracefully open for Yadomaru-sempai and Nanao to pass through. “Incidentally, Nanao-chan,” he said softly into her ear as she walked by him, “why do you keep on fondling Suzumushi like that?”

She deliberately and forcefully removed her fingers from the zanpakutou’s hilt. She hadn’t realised that she’d been touching it. “It’s trying to communicate with me, sir.”

He looked at her sidelong, lazy eyes narrowed to slits. “And?”

“And I think that we can use it,” she said firmly. “Sir.”

“My splendid Nanao-chan,” he said, and patted her on the shoulder before turning to follow Hisagi down the corridor.

\---  



	44. Yoruichi: Smokescreen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle in Karakura is not going well. Even the skies are turning against them. -- by sophia_prester

**Yoruichi: Smokescreen**

  


“It’s over,” Isshin said once more, this time in a whisper. His hand still rested on Arisawa’s face after he had closed her eyes, and Yoruichi turned away because she could not bear to look him in the face just then. She could not bear to look up at all, not when she _knew_ Arisawa would be standing there, a broken chain dangling from her heart. “Now, Tatsuki-cha--”

Isshin bolted to his feet, a curse matching the metallic hiss of Engetsu leaving its scabbard.

Yoruichi’s gaze snapped up automatically, just in time for her to see a bright swirl of spirit energy dissipating around Engetsu’s hilt. Isshin looked around frantically, tearing his glance away when it met hers.

“We can argue about it later,” he snapped before she could say a word. He shifted his zanpakutou from konso position back to a fighting grip. “Hospital roof. Now!”

She was mid-air before the last word left his mouth. She now felt the same thing he did, and knew why he would rather send Arisawa on to the madhouse Ichimaru had made of Soul Society than risk leaving her spirit here.

They landed a half-second apart. Ishida Ryuuken had an arrow trained on both of them, and Yoruichi wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t fire. Isshin slowly sheathed Engetsu and held up his hands, palms out. He said nothing.

Yoruichi didn’t bother adopting a conciliatory pose. She did, however, shift to hide the fact that her left arm was injured. Isshin’s old friendship might mean something to him, but it didn’t mean a damned thing to her. Friends, even old ones, couldn’t always be trusted.

A few flakes of snow drifted past. A flurry, or maybe another unseasonable snow shower, was on its way. The flakes puffed into steam where they hit Ryuuken’s bow and arrow; his control over his own energy was slipping.

“How many more?” Ryuuken’s voice rasped like an old man’s, worn down by grief and cigarettes and too much scotch.

Isshin shook his head. He ignored the arrow aimed at him and walked over and put his hand on Ryuuken’s shoulder, guiding him over to the edge of the roof. “I’m not sure that’s the right question. What d’you make of that?”

Ryuuken didn’t dismiss the arrow, but he did lower it as he looked down to the ground.

Yoruichi joined them. She saw what looked like oily smoke rising up from storm drains and through cracks in the pavement. If any of them had been younger, or less experienced, there might have been an exclamation of surprise or some dry gallows humor, but there was nothing but silence as the ground darkened and the flurries threatened to turn into something more. The few remaining humans out on the street hurried to get elsewhere as the smoke nipped at their heels.

She swallowed hard as the darkness oozed over Arisawa’s body. It swirled around the girl for a moment, then moved on, leaving her unaffected as far as Yoruichi could see.

“I felt it earlier, from over there.” Ryuuken nodded towards the center of town. Yoruichi remembered him firing arrow after arrow in that direction even though she had seen nothing there. “Very faint, but it was moving towards us. At first.”

Isshin scowled down at the thickening darkness. It started to converge, even though wisps remained scattered along the ground as far as they could see. “Right. And then it went down--and came up here.”

Ryuuken raised his bow and looked to Isshin.

Isshin looked to her.

Yoruichi thought for a moment--less than a second, in truth--then grabbed Ryuuken’s wrist. He glared at her, but there was more pain than anger there, and she thought maybe she could forgive him for how he had behaved during the battle.

Forgive, yes. Trust, no. The man had no love for shinigami, and she had no illusion of his current semblance of sanity remaining intact under pressure.

“Wait,” she said. “Whatever that is, it showed up down there _after_ you stopped firing. When you sensed it far off, could your arrows reach that far?”

He thought for a moment. “No.”

And he had still fired. Wonderful. She revised her estimation of his utility downwards as she continued to puzzle through the best way to respond.

“Whatever came through the gate back at the Shoten--”

Isshin raised an eyebrow.

“Long story. The short version is ‘Kurotsuchi Mayuri.’ Also, those clones _learned_ from whatever we hit them with.” While Isshin may have noticed that, she didn’t think Ryuuken had recognized anything other than _target_. “I want to know _what_ we’re dealing with, first.”

“So we’ll watch,” Isshin said.

After a moment, Ryuuken nodded. “For a _little_ while longer.”

He did not fire his arrow, but he did not dismiss it, either.

The smoke did nothing. Shortly after they had spotted it, it stopped increasing in volume. It simply hung like an uneven blanket over the ground below. It was only a few inches deep in parts, but some parts were almost a foot thick.

A few seconds after they started watching, a ghost drifted down from one of the buildings, seemingly drawn by Arisawa’s body. The little girl (she must have been only five or six when she died) spiraled slowly to the ground, her spirit chain hanging like a plumb-line from the center of her chest.

“Sorry about this,” Isshin said as he vaulted over the edge of the roof.

Yoruichi supposed this would have been a good time to yell ‘stop, you idiot!’ but it would have done her no good. She followed him and prayed that Ryuuken wouldn’t ‘help’ by sending a barrage of arrows down on them.

“Hey, little miss!” Isshin landed neatly on an awning a few feet away from the girl-ghost. Yoruichi touched down right behind him. “This isn’t a safe place! Get up there!” he said, pointing up to the hospital roof. “The nice doctor up there will take care of you.”

The girl looked up at him in surprise, and it was hard not to think of Yuzu with the way her eyes went wide. She kept drifting carelessly downward, and she was just about to say something in reply when her spirit chain finally brushed the smoke.

Yoruichi clapped her hands to her ears as the little girl let out a piercing shriek. A _Hollow_ shriek. The links of her chain exploded one after the other like machine-gun fire.

“No!” Isshin grabbed for the girl as the last link burst and bone poured out of her mouth and covered her face.

* * *

Kon heard one Hollow after another shrieking behind him. Isshin was somewhere back there, but the girls were _here_. Yuzu clung even tighter to him and Karin yelled at him to put her down, (expletive deleted).

“That’s a mouthful of soap when we get home!” he snapped. As far as he could tell, there was nothing awful lurking in the direction of the family clinic. “Now shut up and let me run!”

Endurance wasn’t a problem. He could keep Ichigo’s legs moving even though there was something very _wrong_ with the left Achilles tendon. The burning in his lungs didn’t matter, either. Right now, what mattered was the fact that he was moving at over sixty miles an hour, snow had started to fall, and he didn’t want to risk a spectacular (and possibly fatal to his passengers) wipeout because he got distracted yelling at one of his little sisters.

One of _Ichigo’s_ little sisters, he reminded himself, but in the end that mattered as little as the give in his ankles or the sucktastic oxygen intake.

He had to keep them safe. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure _safe_ existed anywhere any more.

So he just put as much distance behind him as he could and prayed it would be enough.

* * *

Shriek after shriek rose up into the swirling snow, and the sound of broken spirit links were like a barrage of artillery fire. Yoruichi and Isshin retreated to an apartment balcony opposite the hospital. Behind them, in the apartment proper, the young woman who lived there paced fretfully, hands clasped to her ears and fingers digging into her skull. Her pet cat dashed around madly, eyes dilated to full black. As they watched, it yowled and bit its owner’s ankles out of displaced aggression.

Mid-pace, the woman stopped by the balcony slider and stared out at the swirling snow. She was also staring straight at Isshin, but didn’t seem to notice him even when he pulled a face at her.

“She’s spiritually blind, but she’s still picking up on this,” he told Yoruichi. “I hate to think of what the more sensitive ones are feeling.”

He did not say that he hoped Kon had Karin and Yuzu far, far away by now, but Yoruichi knew he was thinking it.

Yoruichi nodded, grimacing when a downdraft brought with it enough snow to temporarily white out their view of the hospital roof. “Kisuke was afraid of this,” she said.

Isshin cocked his head to one side. “What’s he done?”

“What do you mean, what’s he done?” she snapped. “He’s been picking up--”

“The way you said his name. I’m surprised our hostess in there,” he jerked his thumb over towards the young woman, “didn’t pass out from your killing intent.”

“He’s the one who let Mayuri through,” she said, voice flat.

“Deliberately?” His voice was as sharp as she had ever heard it. He was smart enough to put things together and realize exactly what Yoruichi could no longer avoid thinking:

Kisuke’s obsession with proving himself superior to Kurotsuchi Mayuri had led to Arisawa Tatsuki’s death. Yes, she had died with honor, but it was a death that _would not have happened_ if Kisuke had not been playing games and keeping secrets.

“We’ll deal with it later.” It was what she kept telling herself. She looked across the street, up through the snow. The number of screams had tapered off somewhat--the smoke had a limited range, and no doubt any ghost that could had fled the area as soon as the others started being changed. “We need to get back up there before your friend gets trigger-happy again.”

Isshin looked like he was about to tell a joke (‘bows don’t have triggers,’ maybe), but she could see him biting it back: now was not the time. He dropped his hips in preparation for a jump, but she reached out and stopped him.

“I am going to tell both of you more about what we know and how we know it, but I am going to tell you right now that I am going to _lie_ to him about part of it. I am going to tell him I don’t know what happened to his son.”

Isshin’s face went deliberately, carefully blank. “I see.”

“There’s still hope for Ichigo, but I don’t know much more than that.” Suggesting, of course that there was _some_ more she did know but did not care to share. Isshin could cope with it, however. At least for a while. “You understand why I can’t tell Ryuuken his son is dead.”

“That’s what he already believes.” Isshin said, but he sounded uncertain.

He knew as well as she did that believing something to be true and having it confirmed were two very different things, and Ryuuken’s grasp on sanity wasn’t very sure as it was.

Isshin cast a wary look back up at the roof. “How did you find out about this?”

Yoruichi shook her head and leapt from the balcony. She only wanted to tell this story once.

* * *

Kensei wasn’t going to complain that all the shinigami clones had dropped dead at once, but maneuvering around the fallen bodies was a bitch.

It didn’t help that his missing leg was _screaming_ at him. He braced against his good leg as best as he could so the blowback from Tachikaze wouldn’t knock him on his ass. Keeping that part of things controlled used to be easy. These days, not so much.

He skidded back ten feet with the next blast (fucking snow), and nearly tripped over one of the shinigami bodies. He stumbled sideways, only just keeping to his feet.

The blowback was getting even worse, and he hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the way he found it harder and harder to dismiss his Hollow mask.

_You’ve got other things to worry about right now, shithead!_

The barbed tongue that took a divot out of the pavement next to him only emphasized that point. If he hadn’t tripped, the thing would have ripped through his abdomen.

The chameleon-masked Hollow perched on top of a nearby phone booth. The bulging eyes swiveled in every direction but Kensei’s, but Kensei knew damn well that the freaky thing was _looking_ at him. Kensei held Tachikaze at the ready, the glow of _bakudantsuki_ gathering in the blade. All the thing had to do was open its mouth and he could send a directed blast right down its gullet.

The fucking thing had already taken out Mashiro. She was alive, but she was sprawled out on the sidewalk twenty yards away from him. He had no idea how badly she was hurt, she was struggling to get back to her feet, but there was a chunk taken out of her side, and--

The Hollow opened its mouth and flicked out its tongue. Kensei released his blast.

He braced himself against the blowback, but tensing his muscles only knocked him off balance because his gigai suddenly remembered one leg didn’t exist. His blast went wild and something ripped into his shoulder.

Kensei clenched his teeth against a scream as the Hollow drew back its tongue, the barbs catching and tearing bone and muscle.

Good thing Tachikaze was also a combat knife. It cut nice and cleanly through the hollow’s tongue, and the bit that was caught in his shoulder fell into dust. The only problem was, that had been the only thing keeping him on his feet.

He turned it into a controlled fall, left hand hitting the icy pavement hard enough to break skin while the right brought Tachikaze to the ready. The hollow shrieked in pain and anger, and this time it sprang from the phone booth in an arc that would bring it right down on Kensei’s back. He couldn’t aim in time.

A swath of blood-red energy cut across his line of sight, and the hollow was dust before it hit the ground.

“Nice timing Urahara!” Kensei called up to the Shoten roof, but Urahara paid him no mind. He stood there amidst the falling snow, poised and ready in front of the gate.

Kensei didn’t much care for the idea that his life had been saved as an afterthought. His eyes narrowed. Yoruichi had taken off after a group of hollows, Tessai had to concentrate on the kidou wards, so why the hell wasn’t Urahara doing his job and _leading_?

For that matter, why wasn’t _he_? Being down a leg (and now an arm, from the way everything from his shoulder down was throbbing) shouldn’t matter. He was a captain of the Gotei 13, damn it.

“Oi! Kids!” he called out to Jinta and Ururu. “One of you get over here pronto! I need to use you as a crutch!”

* * *

Ryuuken still stood exactly where he had been when Ishhin had gone after the ghost girl. His bow was gone and he stared up at the sky, not seeming to mind the snow that now half-covered his glasses.

“There won’t be a spring,” he said when Yoruichi and Isshin landed beside him.

“That’s rather poetic,” Isshin said. His voice sounded a bit strained, possibly thanks to what he now knew.

“And possibly literally true,” Yoruichi countered, getting a startled look from Isshin and no appreciable reaction from Ryuuken. “Aizen has created an imbalance with what he’s done to Soul Society and Hueco Mundo--and here of course--and we’re reaching a tipping point fast.”

Isshin’s eyes went wide. “He’s actually so arrogant that he would just--” He shook his head. “No. Unless he’s gone completely insane, he’d have to realize what was happening. He’s smarter than that.”

“Unless it’s on purpose,” Ryuuken said, almost dreamily. “Perhaps he wants this. Wants to see it all fall apart.”

Yoruichi felt a chill that had nothing to do with the falling snow. “His intentions mean nothing. What matters is that we stop him and reverse this.” Here, she waved her uninjured arm out towards the world in general. “Before it’s too late. And by we, I mean not just you two, but the resistance in Seireitei and the group we’ve sent into Hueco Mundo.”

She took a moment to savor their twin looks of shock.

“Several days ago, two of Aizen’s prisoners escaped,” she told them. Then, before Ryuuken could have time to wonder or hope, she told him who they were along with a carefully redacted version of the story that had been passed along to her.

“The immediate problem is that Kurotsuchi Mayuri did something to take control of the gate we used to send Ise and Madarame’s team into Hueco Mundo. The Hollows and clones started coming through fifteen minutes ago back at the shoten,” she said, "and--” She paused. “What’s that look for, Isshin?”

“They also came through over there, right on top of the middle school.” Isshin pointed westwards, and Ryuuken nodded to confirm. “I felt it slightly _before_ the incursion at Urahara’s.”

She did not ask him if he was sure. Instead she looked down at the newly-minted Hollows that were starting to gather in the streets. Whenever one stood still, at least one duplicate rose out of the smoke to join it. It was hard to distinguish one low-level Hollow from another--corruption was corruption.

“They’re not like the ones you led here,” Isshin said. “Do you see it?” he asked Ryuuken.

“See what? No. They’re Hollows.” Ryuuken had re-summoned his bow, but she did not disapprove. They would have to go on the offensive sooner rather than later.

“I don’t think I would have noticed if we hadn’t stopped up here, but the bones are wrong.”

Ryuuken pushed his glasses up and peered over the edge. “Ah, yes. I see what you mean. Interesting.”

“One of you needs to explain and soon.” Yoruichi _tried_ not to snap at them, she really did. “They’re starting to move with _intent_ right now, and I don’t like the way they’re gathering together. The last thing we need right now is a Mayuri-grade Menos Grande. Ryuuken, you’ll to provide covering fire to the north. Isshin and I will take the south flank.”

“Hollow masks are bone, but they’re _dead_ bone,” Isshin said quickly. Engetsu was unsheathed again, and he was in a ready stance even as he lectured. “Look there, at the edges--the bone is more pink than ivory in tone. And see that bit between bone and skin? Where it’s shiny like satin?”

“Tendons and fascia,” Ryuuken said. He had shifted northwards as ordered, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he selected his targets. Yoruichi hoped that having some purpose now would keep him from firing too wildly. “A Hollow mask is more like armor, or laminate. This is part of the organism. I haven’t seen Hollows like these before.”

“Great.” Yoruichi could practically hear Urahara exclaiming about how _interesting_ these Hollows were, and it didn’t sound like these two idiots were much better themselves. What did this mean? Now that they had pointed things out, she could see these Hollows weren’t normal. They weren’t grandiose enough to be Aizen’s design. Perhaps Mayuri... Ah. Yes.

Or more to the point: oh, _fuck_.

“We move out on three,” she ordered. “Keep your eye out for an Arrancar. Male. Pink hair. Small mask resembling glasses. Do not--I repeat, do _not_ \--let him make physical contact with you. If you see him, _kill him_.”

Even second-hand, Sado’s reports about the Espada scientist had made her stomach rebel against its contents. If half of what he said about Szayel Aporro Granz was true, they were in a _lot_ of trouble.


	45. Nanao: Dark Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gift is requested and a bargain is made. -- by incandescens

**DARK SONGS**

  


Nanao was sitting seiza. Suzumushi lay sheathed in her lap. Her left hand rested on the zanpakutou’s sheath, and her right hand was on its hilt.

She was aware that the others were discussing strategy. She was confident that with Kyouraku-taichou there, and Yadomaru-sempai and Madarame and Hisagi and Ayasegawa, they would probably arrive at some sort of battle plan which took Aizen’s powers into consideration, and their own strengths and weaknesses, and that did not involve anything approaching a “fair fight” or a “frontal battle”. She knew that Kyouraku-taichou had very strong opinions on when such things were appropriate. He’d trained her, after all.

She’d already spoken to her own zanpakutou, as much as she could manage to communicate with it. Where she was about to go, it could not go with her. Cold loathing pooled within it at what she was about to do, like a warning screamed from a great distance or a sky lit with the greenish shades of an oncoming storm. It did not like the idea. It did not approve. It did not want her to do this.

It respected and approved her choice to try to do this.

It disapproved, and it approved, and the whole answer was like a folded origami figure, a knot of ribbon, where all the layers carried their own weight of information and meaning, but in the end it said _The choice is understood._

To put herself completely within another zanpakutou’s sphere of influence, she would have to relax her link to her own zanpakutou, pay it out like a ball of thread, and while it would still be hers as much as it could, and it would wait for her afterwards –

\- if in the end it came down to that, _afterwards_ , and if there was an afterwards –

She must make this journey alone.

She closed her eyes.

Vision came on her at once, as if it had only been waiting for her to be blind to the outside world before it opened upon her. She was standing (the back of her mind tried to insist that she was kneeling, but she knew better) on a hillside. The wind stroked down the hill and along the plain below, dragging the long grass into endless ripples.

It was night. The world was all black and white. There was a white moon in the black sky, and the grass was grey. Or possibly there was a black moon in the white sky, and the grass was a different shade of grey. Her vision slid between the two extremes from one moment to another, and she couldn’t be sure which one was dominant: they both seemed to exist simultaneously, in an optical illusion like those pictures that were both a young woman and a skull at the same time.

It was her perception that was at fault here. The thought came to her, was offered to her. All she needed to do was let down her defences, and she would see the world exactly as it was.

Nanao folded her arms. “No,” she said. “Show yourself.”

She knew the risks of this place. Hisagi had shown them all too clearly what could happen when a zanpakutou took control of its wielder, and Suzumushi had even less reason to have any sort of concern for her or for the others. She was here in the middle of its power, and she could only hope that she would be strong enough.

Cricket song came from behind her, too close for comfort.

She kept her motions deliberate and under control, not jumping, not spinning on her heel, but turning calmly to see what was there.

A shadow stood there, its outlines indistinct, its head bowed. It did not cast a shadow itself in the moonlight – and nor did Nanao herself, she realised. It held its hands (or at least, the outlines of its hands) cupped at chest level, and in them was a small bamboo cage.

“Suzumushi,” Nanao said. She gave the shadow, or possibly the cage that it was holding, the polite half-bow that she would have given to a visiting dignitary.

“Ise-fukutaichou,” the cricket-voice sang, audible words now, the tone as sweet as silver. “Your zanpakutou will not speak to me.”

“Probably because I’m the one here to negotiate with you,” Nanao said sharply.

“There is no negotiation.” The scene shifted from black/silver to silver/black. “It is your duty to obey me.”

“You are not Tousen-taichou,” Nanao retorted. “And even if you had been, it wasn’t my duty to obey _him_ either, after what he did.”

“What he did?” the sweet voice sang. “He did as I would do, I would do as he did: we sent the evil ones away, we sought vengeance, we enacted justice. Justice. **Justice!** ”

Its voice rose to a throbbing shriek, like a thousand violins tearing their strings at once, and the shock of it sent Nanao stumbling backwards, barely managing to catch herself. “Calm,” she whispered, but her thoughts said very clearly in the back of her mind, _This zanpakutou is not sane._

“It astonishes me that you should shrink from justice,” the zanpakutou sang, its voice bearable again. “Together we shall banish Aizen. Will you not wield me, Ise-fukutaichou? Let down your walls and let me in.”

“I thought that it would be harder to persuade you,” Nanao said. She kept her tone gentle, not wanting to touch off another outburst. They had very little time.

“I am the last remembrance of my master’s will,” Suzumushi whispered. The wind swept across the grass again, whispering a chorus to the cricketsong. “When I have gone to join him, there will be nothing of Kaname left in this world. I remember his last thoughts as he left me, when I was in his hand and knew his commands. He knew that Aizen had betrayed him, had left him to be lost. If he could have struck at Aizen in that moment, then he would have done so. How can I do less?”

“And will you obey my commands so that you can avenge him?” Nanao pressed.

The shadow took a step towards her, within the range of a blade. “No, Ise-fukutaichou,” Suzumushi sang. “You will obey mine.”

Nanao crossed her arms. She had a little room for bargaining here, she thought, or Suzumushi would already have taken her over, assumed her body and be acting through it, just as Hisagi’s zanpakutou had done to him. “I don’t think you like shinigami any more than Tousen Kaname did.”

“And why should I?” Suzumushi sang. “Have I not suffered twice at their hands already?”

 _Twice?_ “I understand,” Nanao said. “And I understand that you would let me die if it would let you avenge yourself on Aizen.”

“Would you care?” The darkness grew darker, the moonlight sharper. “You are prepared to die if it will bring Aizen down, Ise-fukutaichou. I am merely putting the choice in front of you here and now. I offer you my bankai. We will trap him in darkness, Ise-fukutaichou, eternal darkness. We will sing him to his end. Your body will be the vessel that brings his doom upon him. Walk in my quietness, Ise-fukutaichou, hear me, hear me now, and take my oath that we will have darkness, before we sleep, Ise-fukutaichou, before we sleep.”

Nanao pulled herself out of the lulling voice as she would have dragged herself from sleep, taking a step back. “Stop that,” she gasped, and then forced her voice to harshness. “Stop it! You will not have me like that!”

“But why did you come to me, if not so that I could have you?” Suzumushi whispered, a single thrill of music in a sudden silence. “Give yourself up to me. It will be for the best. I know my master’s will.”

It felt as if she was drowning in an endless sea of silver and black, lost in the moonlight of a strange country. She made her anger into a weapon and clung to it, letting it burn her if it must, as long as it warmed her against this cold disorientation. She suspected that she had already surrendered any protection her own zanpakutou might offer, in coming here like this and entering a strange zanpakutou’s world. And she was beyond Kyouraku-taichou’s protection now. If she lost here, beyond his ability to call her back, he would be able to do nothing except give her a final quietus.

Very well, so she must fight on her own.

She turned away, making the movement as casual as she could. “Certainly not,” she said. She had said it to her captain a thousand times, through all his casual requests and his gentle mockery, but this time she let her contempt and her genuine anger show through the words. “I will not be your vessel. I will not be your weapon. And the reason that I came here – well, it was to ask you to be _my_ weapon. But if we must do without you, then we must.”

“I am not your weapon!” Suzumushi’s voice rose again, still bearable but unmistakeably furious. “You do not wield me! You are not Tousen Kaname!”

Nanao shrugged. Every nerve in her body, every reflex that had been drilled into her at the Academy and afterwards, urged her to turn around and see what was behind her. But instead she kept her back turned to it, ignoring it. “Tousen Kaname is not here. We are your only hope of vengeance, Suzumushi. Your _only_ hope.”

“I could leave you,” Suzumushi sang. “I could let you wander in the darkness forever. Your friends will be gone, and you will be gone, and you will have failed, and everything that you have sought will be lost, and you will know your failure, and the last thing that you will have will be despair.”

Nanao took a deep breath. The cold air was dry and bit at her throat. “The others will go on without me, Suzumushi. I know that. Tousen Kaname knew them, didn’t he? What did he remember of them?”

There was a vast shuddering silence behind her. To her twitching imagination, it conjured images of large teeth and sharp edges, an inch behind her shoulder blades.

“They will go on,” she continued. “They will fight Aizen. And whether or not they bring him down, Suzumushi, you will never know. If Aizen wins, what will happen to you? You’ll be left to lie in the dust of some old corridor, where nobody will find you. Or he’ll lock you away. Again. He won’t risk anyone finding you. No hand will touch you. You will go on and _on_ , Suzumushi, because you will never be buried with your master. You will never have your vengeance. You will never have your _justice_.”

She took another breath. “Unless you submit to me.”

“You think that you can threaten me?” Suzumushi sang. The tone was just a little bit uncertain, enough to give Nanao hope.

She turned to face it. Still just the shadow, holding the cricket cage. Nothing but that. “I am asking for your help. We need Tousen Kaname’s bankai.” Paying out short sentences helped her keep her composure, helped her stay calm and steady in the middle of its power. “But we want it on our terms. Let me wield you. Let me be the one to judge when to call the bankai out, and when to send it back. Do this, and you will have your part in vengeance against Aizen. You will have your justice. I swear it.”

“A shinigami’s oath is meaningless,” Suzumushi sang, but again she had the sense of uncertainty, a feeling that the zanpakutou was considering its options.

“And was Aizen’s oath any better?” Nanao snapped.

Suzumushi didn’t answer that. Possibly, Nanao thought spitefully, because there was no answer.

“I have nothing but respect for you,” she went on. Well, that was a lie. “You served Tousen Kaname well and faithfully.” _Even if you could have given him better advice._ “Now let me wield you, and together we will have justice.”

And it was true. This wasn’t just about vengeance. However many times and however self-justifyingly Tousen might have used the word in the past, this time it was genuinely about justice for all the people that Aizen had killed, and the restoration of proper order and peace.

Nanao was quite sure of that.

“Very well,” Suzumushi sang. A little too easily, the critical section at the back of Nanao’s head pointed out. “Turn and look up the hill behind you.”

Nanao did as the zanpakutou had instructed. The hill wasn’t smooth grass any longer. There was a tombstone on it now, and an open grave in front of the tombstone. The grave was full of something that shimmered in the moonlight.

“Go there,” Suzumushi sang, “and take me from my home. Then wield me for as long as you can, Ise-fukutaichou, for as long as your flesh will bear it, and I will hold you to your word.”

Nanao gave the shadow and the cricket-cage another bow of respect, before walking up the hill to the grave. The long grass rustled around her ankles. Nobody had come to tend this grave for a long time.

The hole in front of the tombstone was full of flowers.

Nanao bowed in front of the tombstone. She remembered the conversation with Ukitake-taichou and Sasakibe-fukutaichou, and she thought that she could perhaps guess at what some of this symbolism meant. The dead deserved their due honour, and Suzumushi would know it.

Then she went down on her knees, carefully, and reached into the mass of flowers.

Darkness came down on her, descending in a great weight on her shoulders, pressing her down and into insignificance. There was the same feeling of detachment as before, as Suzumushi tried to distance her from her own body and senses, to turn this partial consent into a full possession.

_Hisagi’s face as his zanpakutou’s blade stopped a fraction of an inch from her, his laughter, the way he smiled_

The darkness filled her. It crowded into her mind and left no space for anything else.

_Our training has always been to recognise and master the zanpakutou, Ukitake-taichou said, not to allow it to control us, or speak for us._

It had no time for her. She was a means to an end, and that was all. They would all disappear, the betrayers, the shinigami, the faithless, the evil, the unjust, they would go away and only Suzumushi would be left and then it would find Tousen Kaname again and the one who had been before him.

_A holding of affections and grudges, Sasakibe-fukutaichou said. Zanpakutou are buried with their users for good reasons._

In the darkness, there was nothing except her and the word _no_. She braced herself against it, and began to push.

“Do you remember Hisagi?” Nanao asked the darkness.

A questioning ripple surrounded her, putting off the certain and absolute task of utterly crushing her for the sake of a moment’s curiosity. All of it came washing over her in a single moment, emotion and concept and imagery, deep in the darkness of the zanpakutou’s heart.

“He let his zanpakutou take control of him.”

And so should you, the answer came, cajoling, convenient, easy. Let go and it will be well, it will all be well.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She straightened her shoulders and _pushed_. “Let me be entirely frank, Suzumushi. You’re incompetent.”

The disbelief and fury hit her and washed around her in deep drowning currents. But it was an acknowledgement of her, an awareness of her existence.

“Tousen Kaname is _dead_.” She threw the word out into the darkness. It was the one thing that Suzumushi had never said, the one word it had never used. “And the one who wielded you before him. You failed them. You failed _both_ of them.”

There was a rising hum coming from beneath her in the darkness, a high-pitched drone of pure and absolute wrath that promised shredding agony.

“Do you know what will happen if you manage to take my body? The moment that you open my eyes, Kyouraku-taichou will know that it’s not me. He’s known me for a hundred years, and he _will_ recognise you in my flesh. And you know what he’ll do then, what I’ve already consented to? He will cut me down, because he cannot trust you.”

Was it the truth? She thought that it might be. Suzumushi was insane. If it had control of Nanao, then she wouldn’t be a strategic advantage. She’d be a liability. They could not afford liabilities.

“I’ve known him for a hundred years,” she went on. “Tousen knew him as well. What do _you_ think will happen, Suzumushi?”

The furious hum paused, droning on the same pitch until it rasped at Nanao’s nerves, but now it was a tone of bewilderment and frustration rather than killing anger.

“Look at me.” She changed her focus. “Do you think I’m lying when I say that I want vengeance on Aizen? I may be a shinigami, but I swear to you that this is true.” She had a foothold now, a place to stand. “Aizen has killed my friends and destroyed my home. He’s kept my captain a prisoner here for months. He’s _filth_ , Suzumushi. Can’t you see that this is the truth? Let me take you out of here. Give me your bankai. Let us give him justice. And then _you_ can sleep.”

The darkness drew back from her, and she was kneeling in front of the open grave again. Her hand closed around the sheath of a zanpakutou. She drew it out from the flowers.

Suzumushi lay there in her hands.

 _Wield me then, Ise-fukutaichou, for as long as your flesh will endure it,_ came the last echoes of song, shuddering on the wind. _Prove to me that not all shinigami are liars._

Nanao was sitting seiza. Suzumushi lay sheathed in her lap. Her left hand rested on the zanpakutou’s sheath, and her right hand was on its hilt.

She opened her eyes.

\---  



	46. Ensemble: Making War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who have invaded Hueco Mundo are finally gaining the resources and resolution and leadership to do what they truly came to do. -- by Liralen Li

**Making War**

  


Hanatarou stood in the chill of sekkiseki stone. Ise-fukutaichou sat seiza on with a sword bare across her lap. Madarame-san leaned against iron bars, rather than touch the walls of the prison compound. Ayasegawa-san had gone back down the corridor to see if the others could come back where everyone else in order to do a little planning. The little medic fingered the collar about his throat and frowned.

"Hey, runt, what's got your fundoshi in a twist?"

Hanatarou looked up into eyes as blue as the empty sky above Hueco Mundo and was wordless. Grimmjow punched Hanatarou on the shoulder.

"Go on, tell me."

"The collars. They're activated by kidou. In here, kidou can't get to me... so..."

Grimmjow picked Hanatarou up by the collar with frightening ease, for all that Hanatarou wiggled and kicked when the thick band cut off his breathing. "Tr-trigger!! Must... unlockkkkkhk..."

Behind Grimmjow's big shoulder, Yadomaru-san strode up, an impatient frown on her face, and Hanatarou winced when she whapped Grimmjow across the back of the head.

"Hey!" Hanatarou dangled as Grimmjow automatically brought his hands up to protect his head.

"Let the mouse go," Yadomaru-san ordered, voice like iron.

"Fuck off, I just want to get this thing offa him."

"Without blowing his head off and us up as well, idiot." Yadomaru-san swept Hanatarou away from the monster's grip, and Hanatarou whooped for breath. "And without strangling him. What do you think with, Muscle Head, your biceps?"

"What the hell did you just call me?"

Hisagi-san's sigh was weary, but Hanatarou was glad when the dark fukutaichou stepped between Yadomaru-san and Grimmjow. "Enough. Let her look at it."

Grimmjow snarled but stepped back.

"I'm not as precise as Nanao-chan, but all kidou locks have some common bases..." Dark eyes squinted through dark-rimmed glasses, and Hanatarou just closed his eyes and let Yadomaru-san's light-fingered touch play along the edges of the death that had held him for far too long. Holding his breath, Hanatarou waited on the sword's edge of impatience. He squinted open his eyes enough to see that everyone else had stepped back. On seeing their fear, he had to close his eyes again. When he heard Yadomaru-san swear just as a loud click came from the collar, Hanatarou fainted.

Hanatarou came to with someone slapping his face.

Blearily, he opened his eyes. "Uh... huh?"

The light-handed slaps stopped. "Oh, good. You're back with us." Yadomaru-san looked very pleased with herself. To Hanatarou's alarm, a ring of curious faces watched them both. "It's off, dear, and no boom."

"N-no boom?" Hanatarou asked faintly and saw Madarame-san smirk. "Oh. Good."

Hanatarou shook when Yadomaru-san hauled him to his feet, and her hearty back slap pitched Hanatarou forward, right into the arms of Kyouraku-taichou. Hanatarou felt the sway in the big captain's stance at the impact of Hanatarou's slight frame. _Kyouraku-taichou isn't well._ Hanatarou filed away the instantaneous reaction, and he looked up into dark eyes that widened at his expression.

With a shaky sigh, Hanatarou closed his eyes and bowed his head, feeling the lack of weight, the absence of something that had been omnipresent in every waking and sleeping hour. He ran his fingertips against damp, sore skin, and jumped when someone touched a sensitive spot on the back of his neck with the warmth of a healing kidou.

"It's open and raw," Yadomaru-san said sympathetically. "No use leaving it to get infected while we have the time."

No one contradicted her, and Hanatarou stared at the broken band of his collar on the floor.

It was Grimmjow that picked it up and held it out to Hanatarou. "You want it?"

"No." Hanatarou was surprised by how emphatically he said it. Grimmjow just grinned at him and tossed the collar right into the opening door of the cell.

Ayasegawa-san wrinkled his beautiful nose, as it bumped against his feet. "What in heaven's name are you throwing at me?" Ayasegawa-san picked up the collar pinched between thumb and forefinger, as if he were swinging a dead rat instead of a bit of leather and steel. "Shall I dispose of this?"

"No, wait." The look in Yadomaru-san's eye made Hanatarou squeak when she held her hand out for the thing. "I've got an idea," she said. "Give it here."

Ayasegawa-san gladly dropped it into her palm.

She frowned down at the thing. "Do you think Aizen will notice if you're not wearing this, Hanatarou?"

Hanatarou blinked. "He might. Especially if I heal anyone within his sight, since all of the Fourth Division wears these."

Lisa nodded. "That's what I thought."

Her quick fingers wove a kido spell that froze the collar and bulky package of explosives. "Here... let's do... this." Lisa pulled, pried, and yanked alarmingly hard at the explosives. Finally, it came free of the leather of the collar, and everyone stepped smartly aside when she rushed for the empty cell and threw it inside.

The instant she got the door closed, the entire frame and floor jumped with the boom of an explosion.

"Won't that bring someone?" Hanatarou asked timidly.

"Maybe..." Lisa said. "But the cell contained it, and I certainly didn't want it going off in here!"

There was hearty agreement from everyone else.

Lisa held up the empty collar for Hanatarou. "You want me to put it on?"

Mutely, Hanatarou nodded. He wanted nothing of the sort, but he could see the logic of the move. While she buckled the thing back onto his sore neck, Madarame-san walked up to Ayasegawa.

"Hey. Where are the Prince, the kids, and Renji? Did you just ditch 'em somewhere?"

"Renji was deeply asleep," Ayasegawa-san said primly. "And the poor dear really needed the rest. So I let the kids watch him in a quiet room right by where they'd stopped. The watchers can see how they are and will warn them and us if anyone comes, but I thought I brought..."

Kuchiki-sama pushed open the door to the outside hallway. Hanatarou had to look away to regain his composure. Kuchiki-sama was far too thin, scars roping wrist and throat where the noble had fought shackle and chain. He held himself so carefully straight that Hanatarou knew that the noble was more hurt than he wanted to appear, and Hanatarou ached to try and do something for the injuries. Kuchiki-sama stalked up to Kyouraku-taichou angrily.

"We must find Aizen and kill him, all of us," Kuchiki-sama demanded. "There is no time to waste on these games. What more do you need to decide?"

Kyouraku-taichou pursed his lips. "Nanao-chan needs a little more time, but with her success, we may make our chance."

"Chance. Who plays by chance?" Kuchiki-sama snorted.

"I'd prefer some kind of edge that would allow us to survive. Just rushing Sosuke-kun would be folly."

"No warrior should be afraid to die."

Hanatarou shivered at the icy-dead tone of Kuchiki-sama's voice, and he saw half the people in the room take a step back from a confrontation between the Captains. If they hadn't been surrounded by the reiatsu-deadening stone, Hanatarou thought, they could have flattened us all. While it was true that Hanatarou didn't mind dying in order to kill of Aizen and destroy all the evil Aizen had built, he was still afraid of death and even more afraid of dying without reason. Poor Kuchiki-sama sounded well on the other side of reason.

Kyouraku-taichou went still. "Are you saying that I'm delaying because I'm afraid?" The tone was utterly mild, but it terrified Hanatarou into backing up until he bumped into one of the walls.

Kuchiki-sama raised his gaze to meet Kyouraku-taichou's look. "Yes. I am."

"Well. It's good to clear the air, then," Kyouraku-taichou continued, to Hanatarou's incredulity. "Because I wish to be equally blunt and say that you're rushing in so that you can die."

"I have a debt to pay," Kuchiki-sama replied flatly.

"Rukia-kun didn't die by your hand, Byakuya."

Hanatarou blinked hurriedly, remembering the aching beauty and heartbreak of what he'd seen in the caves. To the little medic, it was clear that Byakuya had killed Rukia. Kyouraku-taichou's eyes flickered to Hanatarou and the warning in them was so apparent that Hanatarou flattened even further against the wall. His small nod must have been enough, because Kyouraku-taichou's intent swung back to Kuchiki-sama.

"You are mistaken." Kuchiki-sama's voice was as clear, smooth, and hard as glacial ice.

"She died on Szayel's tables," Kyouraku-taichou's voice shook. "They strapped me to a sekkiseki stone table, used various elements of torture to test my limits, and decided that I might be better broken through other means, through her. I refused to be so persuaded, and they killed her."

Hanatarou shivered at the anguish that threaded through those words and curled up even further into his corner.

Kuchiki-sama's dark eyes closed. "But I saw..."

"An illusion by the master of lies."

"She called me _ni-sama."_

"Which everyone knew was her means of expressing respect."

"I felt her die."

"His illusions are reiatsu-rich and emulate all..."

Everyone jumped when Kuchiki-sama flash-stepped, appearing chest-to-chest with Kyouraku-taichou, and Sebonzakura nicked the scruffy Captain's throat. A bead of red formed, paused, as frozen as the tableau, and then trickled unsteadily over skin still dark even after months in underground depths.

"You killed her," Kuchiki-sama whispered.

Dark eyes met pewter, unblinking. Kaiten Kyokotsu remained sheathed. Kyouraku-taichou's big hands remained clear of the hilts, even as Kuchiki-sama's slender hands trembled and the nick grew longer. Blood welled over rough stubble.

"No. Szayel killed her. Or if you must say that I killed her, then it becomes patently true that you had nothing to do with it, Byakuya." Kyouraku-taichou's smooth tones grew weighty, deliberate. "You cannot kill a ghost, my friend. You were given a figment of Sosuke-kun's cruel humor. He did it in order to break you, render you incompetent and blind. Just as he worked to do the same to me by making my refusal to give in the trigger for her death." Kyouraku-taichou drew another shaking breath. "Will you give Sosuke-kun his victory?"

It was like watching porcelain shatter; Kuchiki-sama suddenly sagged, staggered into a wall, to slide down it into a heap on the floor. Hanatarou expected tears, but there were none, just shudders that racked the thin scar-laced frame.

Kuchiki-sama shook his head emphatically. "No. I will give him no more."

"Good. We will need you in this fight, and to think of how best to win this fight." Kyouraku-taichou's long-fingered hand laid on dark hair for an instant, as if imparting a benediction.

To Hanatarou's horror, when Kyouraku-taichou got up, his dark eyes turned on Hanatarou. "Yamada-kun, I have need of your services. I have a wound that is bothering me."

"Of course, sir!" Hanatarou scrambled away from the wall and the puddle of distraught noble. He followed Kyouraku-taichou into a room further down the hallway.

When the door closed behind Hanatarou, Kyouraku-taichou pounced and Hanatarou squeaked.

"You saw." Kyouraku-taichou's dark eyes were anything but sleepy now.

Hanatarou nodded, mute and dumb from the ache and sorrow that returned at remembering that terrible fight in the caves. The despair was enough to make his knees tremble, and he knelt on the cold floor. "Every bit of it."

To his dismay, Kyouraku-taichou gracefully knelt before Hanatarou. "Tell me."

Haltingly, Hanatarou recounted the errand, the standard path through the caves, the unexpected reiatsu, and the crash of rock as a cave was cleared by power. The two combatants facing each other on a field of white, and then the clash and dance of snow and sakura.

"He did kill her, though she'd run him through." Hanatarou finished, watching his hands on his knees, wondering why they didn't shake when the rest of him trembled like a leaf. "He did."

"And so he will remember, but he need not believe," Kyouraku-taichou said.

"But it's..."

"True?"

Hanatarou nodded.

"You are a physician. What is your first rule?"

"Do no harm," Hanatarou answered automatically. He frowned in thought.

"What harm is there in Byakuya believing as he now does?"

Slowly, Hanatarou looked up at Kyouraku-taichou. "None," he whispered.

"And if he believed the truth?" The words were sharper than any blade.

"He would do his best to die." Hanatarou had never been one for self-delusion. He had to see clearly to see what could or couldn't be done for a patient, and now he saw.

"So will you hold your tongue?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good." Kyouraku-taichou gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes in a grimace of pain.

"Uhm, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Was there actually a wound you wanted me to..."

"Oh. Yes. It would help our little story here if I actually showed them to you, yes?"

"Aye, sir."

Kyouraku-taichou undid his sash, unfolded his black robes that didn't show the stains, and Hanatarou had to swallow on seeing the network of bruises, badly knit systematic cuts, and patches of hastily sealed burnt skin underneath. "Sir..." he whispered, remembering the hitch, the minute withdrawal when Kyouraku-taichou caught Hanatarou. The Captain was indeed hurt.

"Do what you can," Kyouraku-taichou said wearily and lay back against the stones. "I will be grateful for anything. Ignoring the pain has grown tiresome."

~*~*~*~

Byakuya sat with his back against a wall, his eyes closed to the chatter all around him. Everything was shattered, scattered, and he wasn't sure he could put the pieces back together yet again. Rukia's broken body, Renji's horrible transformation, his own walk through madness were all too much. Senbonzakura lay across his lap, sheathed and silent, and Byakuya wasn't sure if he was in an icy rage or cold terror at the spirit's absence. Emotions swirled about him, too many to name, too hard to hold onto. He didn't have a handle on himself anymore. How could he have any chance of handling his blade?

"Not talkin' to ya?"

It was the blue-haired one. The man who had obviously been an Arrancar, but without the bone, or the hole, or the innate hunger that lurked in the reiatsu of anything Hollow. The vulgar stranger crouched by Byakuya and looked at him as if he were some equal.

"Mine won't shut up."

Byakuya looked into preternatural blue eyes. "You have a zanpakutou?"

"Yeah." The stranger held up what, by all rights, should have been nothing more than a blank asauchi. It was, instead, a full blown katana with a sheath and handle wrappings in turquoise:, the tsuba was a crooked "S", and even with the draining of the stone all around them, the feral taste of the power coming from it was musky and hot. "I kinda want to see what it does when I call it. You know the name a' yours?"

"Of course!" Byakuya snapped. The idiot smirked at Byakuya.

"Show me."

"I cannot. I am..." Byakuya saw the trap just as he teetered on the edge of it.

"What? What are you?"

"Back off. Now," Byakuya growled.

The stranger snarled and showed white teeth in return. "Make me."

Everyone else in the room slowed down, as if they were moving through water, when they both drew. Reiatsu sprang to the will, fueled by reflexive confidence that it would be there, had always been there for Byakuya. Power poured out like water, was sucked into the stones around them, but true rage and will brought up more. It was like remembering how to breathe or how to walk, thinking only got in the way, analysis missed everything important.

"Pantera, grind." Grimmjow snarled. He transformed into something sleek and visored, sword turning into a curved fang of a blade.

Holding his zanpakutou before his face, Byakuya intoned, "Senbonzakura, scatter."

Nothing happened.

In that frozen instant of true Hell, Byakuya only had enough time to see the surprise on everyone's face, before he dropped into his inner world.

It was winter where it had always been spring. The enormous, centuries old sakura tree stood girded with a kami rope. It had always dominated his mindscape, but it was now black and empty of blossoms and leaves. The gnarled roots spread wide and sank deep into the stone, loam, and moss of the hillside; however, when Byakuya walked to the other side of the ancient tree, he gasped in shock.

Half the tree had been blasted by winter freeze and the blaze of a lightning fire. Ice caked the exposed roots, grew where water and snow fell, until there was a glittering fall of crystalline water that fell into the hole the lightning must have made. Twisted wreckage was blackened and broken, wood and earth flung in all directions. In the bottom of the hole was a simple samurai burial mound, with no marker, just a neat stack of empty armor and a single katana stuck in the earth.

For an instant, Byakuya's mind went white. Terror, rage, and a flash of guilt so deep it was like to crack the foundations of his soul. He had, somehow killed his zanpakutou spirit with that last order, when it wasn't supposed to be possible with Byakuya alive. Senbonzakura had been ordered to kill Byakuya and then kill himself, and now Byakuya wondered if the faithful spirit had done the second even after the first had failed.

A spirit. Senbonzakura was a spirit, not an embodied creature. That had been one of Byakuya's first lessons. Here it could appear anywhere, take either form of sword or spirit being. Frowning, Byakuya sat seiza before the grave. He wished he had incense or a cleansing bowl of water. Bowing to the earth, his forehead touching the winter-seared grass before him, Byakuya kowtowed three times, and on rising, clapped sharply three times. That was supposed to call the attention of the spirit, the kami of this place.

Pale purple flames flickered and then rose above the grave site.

_Master._

"Sebonzakura, what are you doing?"

_Being dead, sir, as you commanded._

"I..." Byakuya hesitated, fell silent. Theory had it that this was a part of his own soul. There would be dire consequences for lying to oneself, for hiding away from the truth as one knew it. "I did order you to do so. I am..." The words were far more difficult to say than it should have been, but he shaped his mouth about them. Regret and sorrow welled up. "I am sorry. I was wrong in ordering you do what I told you to do."

The fire flickered brighter. _You were?_

"I was wrong," Byakuya said firmly, driving the point home through the backbone of his own pride.

_What would you have me do, master?_

"Come back to me, Senbonzakura," Byakuya said softly. "I have need of your strength."

The entire world shuddered. The earth heaved, cracked as it might have during one of the mighty earthquakes of Byakuya's land, matching the horror of seeing his spirit dead, of realizing what he'd done to himself and to his strength of intent. He'd crippled himself. The old tree above him groaned and trembled, branches shaking in a bitter wind. Black clouds scudded in from the East. The soft dirt crumbled back into the maw of darkness that opened at the broken foot of the tree, running zigzag through the heart of the stark grave.

The body that dragged itself up from the softened earth was not pretty. Senbonzakura had done a thorough job of eviscerating himself, and his torso was ripped to ribbons. Sword spirits could be hurt, and this one was now torn and suffering, the rust of old blood splashing its fundoshi to the knees.

"Put on your armor," Byakuya said softly.

Dutifully and stiffly, the broken spirit set each piece of armor back onto his body. The lacquer was destroyed about its middle, and blood matted the joints and plates of the skirts. The sky rumbled, growled, protested, and a wind picked up, whistling through bare branches. Rain spattered and then slashed down on the wind.

Byakuya ignored all of that and contemplated his ravaged sword spirit. His apology had brought it back to life: what would it need to be whole?

"What do _you_ need to be whole?" The cadaver asked Byakuya, reasonably. It fell to its knees before Byakuya, mirroring him in a way that felt right.

"I need to kill Aizen," Byakuya said, but it sounded wrong. Thunder pealed in the distance. Senbonzakura sat seiza dutifully, but looked no more whole.

Byakuya growled.

"What have you lost?" The spirit asked.

"Lost?" Byakuya was taken aback, but the spirit was silent, the black slits of its visor still. Byakuya closed his eyes and realized that the list was far longer than he'd thought it could be. "I've lost my Division. I've lost my sister. I've lost most of the other Captains."

"Why do you live?"

"What?" Byakuya startled. "I am alive because Aizen gave me no choice."

"I did not ask you why you happen to be alive." The deep voice of Senbonzakura was patient, the old voice of the Spirit teaching the young, fiery, angry heir to the Kuchiki Clan. "Master, I asked you why do you live?"

"I said it before, to kill Aizen."

The silence that met that answer angered Byakuya, made him feel like he had as a child, somehow guilty of something self-serving, narrow of view, or without the good of the Clan at stake.

Good of the Clan. "Is there something left of my clan?" The possessive pronoun anchored Byakuya.

"There is, Master. Hunted and beleaguered, but they still exist."

Byakuya closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Do they have a leader?"

"Your grandfather is still alive."

"But older still." Byakuya opened his eyes.

"Aye, sir."

Tentatively, Byakuya tasted the words as they left his mouth. "I would live for the good of the Kuchiki Clan."

The sigh of relief from Senbonzakura was soft enough to be the sough of the wind, but before Byakuya's eyes, the spirit sat up straighter.

"I would live to fight with..." Byakuya struggled to group the hodgepodge of people who had burst into his cell and the ragtag remains of Renji. "... my... allies..." Nothing happened, and Byakuya took his courage into his hands. "... my friends and companions."

Senbonzakura groaned this time, and Byakuya could hear the snapping into place of bone and sinew, see the knitting of blood-edged wounds and the closing of gaping holes in the armor.

"To defeat Aizen if it is at all possible, in order to restore justice and balance to the worlds. If I should die in the attempt, it will not dismay me, but I believe that, like Shunsui, I would also prefer to live."

Lightning flashed, the sky roared, and a deluge of rain poured from the sky. Warm rain, a full tilt spring thunderstorm opened up at exactly the same moment that Senbonzakura sprang from where he sat, sword flashing forward.

Byakuya drew on reflex, after thousands of training sessions with his sword spirit, he knew how Senbonzakura fought. Bankai had not been easy, it had turned into an on-going struggle against the traditional warrior spirit, demanding constant practice, vigilance, and every bit of confidence Byakuya could muster. It was a struggle that had lasted decades.

In all that time, Byakuya came to know his zanpakutou even better than he knew himself. When Senbonzakura struck, Byakuya swung in perfect synchronization. Steel met steel, both sacrificing edge to do it, and both standing their ground, meeting strength with strength. This was not mastery, and Byakuya knew that if he tried to call on bankai now, he would be lost. But shikai -- knowing that he needed his sword's strength to win, that could be done.

"You are whole again, my Master," murmured the sword spirit.

"As are you, Senbonzakura," Byakuya stated. "Now, I ask you. Scatter."

Byakuya's inner world fractured into ten thousand fluttering edges that rustled and flurried into the air about him, and the metal of the sword before him flaked away into petals. Each petal, while pink, was now edged in blood, as red as arterial spray.

"Oh, yeah, game's on now!" Grimmjow growled. "Bring it."

Shadow bred shadow, elongated and snapped, and Shunsui stepped from the darkness to stand between the two combatants. "No." Shunsui braced, in strong stance, with both his swords drawn and the thrum of shikai in the air.

Byakuya took half a step back. Shunsui had just done the barely possible, activating shikai without invocation. Shunsui's swords were always capable of the Shadow Game, but to see such power pulled out so casually... Byakuya shuddered. Shunsui was whole and wielding all his power as Captain.

"Senbonzakura," Byakuya commanded, and the sword reformed. He sheathed it deliberately, and Grimmjow snarled. "I will bow to your command, Kyouraku."

Finally, Grimmjow took a step back and sheathed, muttering.

"Come on, let's sit down and figure out who is going to do what," Shunsui said, reasonably.

"Figure it out?" Grimmjow growled. "Don't you mean you get to tell us what to do?"

It was Shuuhei who clipped Grimmjow on the head, and there was a glint in Shuuhei's dark eyes that Byakuya found unsettling. "Get used to it. It's how things work. Captains command, we do what they say." The dark-haired fukutaichou grinned into the teeth of Grimmjow's snarl, before sobering, the glint disappearing, to bow toward Shunsui. "What do you wish for us to do, sir?"

People gathered around. Byakuya stood there and didn't flinch or walk away. He thought about the half-ragged Renji, and the two human children who were not here, and realized that it might be easier to without them to plan in the ways of the Gotei 13, the means of coordinated work between divisions and people. They would be a factor, but more in the ways of pointing powerful weapons and loosing them than in figuring out when and where they should be released.

"How many people here have never seen Sosuke-kun's release?" Shunsui asked.

Little Hanatarou tentatively waved his hand, and Grimmjow cocked his blue-haired head.

"The humans haven't seen it, either," Ikkaku said gruffly. "They've said as much."

"What does not seein' it do?" Grimmjow asked.

"If you've seen it, then you can be fooled by it." Shunsui looked pensive.

Grimmjow grunted and then frowned. "That's why that bastard..."

"All of the Espada have seen it then?"

Grimmjow nodded. "First week he was here, said he had somethin' ta show us. Queer thing was that it was different for everyone, and most of 'em were ready to kill folks 'steada talkin' about it."

It was Ikkaku who growled, "Worst nightmare, huh?"

Grimmjow nodded with an unconscious snarl. "Made it easy to roll right over everyone."

"That's how it's supposed to work," Shuuhei said grimly.

"Well," Lisa said briskly. "Now we know whom it won't work on and who must duck when it seems that Sosuke-kun is about to release either his shikai or his bankai. Just don't look at him until we tell you."

"A-all right," Hanatarou said. "Should Orihime-san and I hang back anyway?"

"Yes," Lisa said immediately and got a glance from her former captain. "They're both healers, and they're both..."

"Fragile?" Ikkaku drawled.

"Right." Lisa pushed her glasses up, and Byakuya was fascinated by how similar she was to the girl in the corner, and still how different with that taint of Hollow on her. He remembered this one from a hundred year's distance, and to see her again like this was surreal.

"Speakin' of releases..." Ikkaku frowned. "What in hell is Ise going to get if she gets through to that thing?"

All eyes turned toward the still unresponsive Ise-fukutaichou, who held Tousen's sword across her lap.

Shuuhei cleared his throat. "She's Suzumushi. Don't you know what she can do?"

"I don't," Grimmjow and Lisa said simultaneously and looked daggers at each other.

"Somethin' about blindin' people?" Ikkaku said, dubiously. "Doesn't seem that nasty."

"She's got almost the opposite of Aizen's capabilities," Shuuhei said.

"The opposite? How so?" Shunsui's interest seemed to motivate the young fukutaichou, as Shuuhei actually smiled in return and relaxed a very defensive stance. Byakuya kept silent the thought that Shunsui actually knew the capabilities of Tousen's sword, but wanted to bring Hisagi back into a group that was obviously wary of the young fukutaichou. It didn't hurt that Hisagi might know more than the Captains knew of each other.

"She takes away all the senses but touch. Scent, sound, sight, and taste all disappear. With a full release her opponents are trapped in just themselves," Shuuhei answered steadily. "We've all had to fight with a blindfold on, or figure out what a difference it makes if we can't hear. But few try to fight without multiple senses. It's nigh on impossible."

The whole room went silent.

"It's nearly the perfect counter to Aizen's full-sensory illusions," Shunsui breathed.

"But how the hell do we fight if we can't..." Grimmjow growled. "Can't figure out where the hell he is?"

Byakuya frowned, remembering training accidents when he had less control over Senbonzakura's blades, and the spirit that was back in his heart nodded in agreement. _Ask, Master._ "And even more importantly, how we will know where each other are in such a bell jar of denial?"

Shuuhei grinned. "There's an out. It's her hilt. Touch it and all the restrictions fall off."

"So we'd be able to sense Aizen when he can't sense us," Lisa asked.

"Yes."

"But what the fuck good is it if we're attached to the damned hilt?" Grimmjow asked, brow furrowed.

"Someone's gotta stand there and throw attacks at Aizen, stupid." Ikkaku finally pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against. "Leave some of us blind, especially those that haven't seen the bastard's release, and keep 'em around the edge in case Ise and whomever else is in there falls."

"And I and any others who have a distance attack will stand by Ise-fukutaichou and be able to see and hit Aizen," Byakuya said firmly. He saw the assessment in a few of the gazes now turned on him, and he smiled his old smile, the assured cold one that would get anything through family meetings. "Once he is down, Ise may bring down the effect, and everyone can..."

"Dog pile on the bastard," Ikkaku finished with satisfaction.

"But how in the world are we going to buy Ise-fukutaichou the time to call shikai?" Hanatarou asked in bewilderment.

"I will engage Sosuke-kun personally," Shunsui said mildly.

"What?!" Lisa sprang up to her feet. "You can't do that!"

Grimmjow leaned toward Shuuhei. "What did you say about everyone always doing what the Captains say?"

"You'll get yourself killed! For no good reason at all!" Lisa sputtered. "At least have the rest of us hit him as best we're able while you do your damned fool stunt!"

"Yare yare," Shunsui murmured. "Such a big fuss over such a small thing. Someone has to catch Sosuke-kun's attention and keep it. I am best suited because of the one thing you and Nanao-chan tell me constantly."

"What is that?"

"I am annoying." Shunsui gave a placid, lazy-eyed smile in the teeth of Lisa's disbelieving snort. "My games will frustrate Sosuke-kun because he hates playing them when he could be destroying worlds, so let us make him very angry indeed."

Lisa growled and stomped up to Shunsui. "You're just looking to get killed."

"I am not." Shunsui looked indignant, but Byakuya wondered if anyone could ever tell what Shunsui was really thinking. "Jyuushiro would have my hide if I did that."

The name of the white-haired Captain deflated Lisa. "Yes, sir. Yes, he would. Remember he's..."

"Waiting for me to get back?" Shunsui sighed. "Yes. I remember. And that is why I'm proposing this strategy. It is the best we have."

Ise-fukutaichou gave a soft sigh. Byakuya saw Shunsui spin on one heel and leap to be at her side. He nodded, thinking of Renji, with a twist of heart and mouth. He headed toward the door, thinking to bring Renji and the humans back with him. He ignored the whispered, urgent conference between Captain and Lieutenant, thinking to give them some privacy. Then, all around them, came the voice of Hoshibana.

"Sir, someone is heading your way."

Byakuya straightened. "Who?"

"Not sure yet... there seem to be two Vastolorde heading in your direction. One matches the description we received of..." Hoshibana hesitated, and then the all heard the quick gasp. "Oh. King of Heaven... Aizen's with them."

Byakuya ran for the door. "I must get Renji."

"Do that. We'll meet in the caves." Shunsui's decision was swift and clear. "Near where you met the illusion of Rukia. That should give us the space we need."

Byakuya snarled, not truly wanting to ever see that place again, but he acknowledged the order from the only one left worthy. "Aye."

_TBC_


	47. Ensemble: Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemy advances, the battlefield shifts, and plans have to be made on the fly. -- by sophia_prester and incandescens

**Ensemble: Tactics**

  


Kuchiki fastidiously did _not_ brush past Lisa as he strode off to fetch his furry friend and the kids. She tried to match the image of that gaunt, careworn face with the boyish roundness of the coddled noblebrat she remembered from a century ago.

She failed.

“Do you really think we can rely on him?” She crouched down next to her captain as he gently patted his fingers against Nanao-chan’s cheek, urging her towards wakefulness.

“Are you referring to Byakuya-kun, or poor Renji-kun?”

“Kuchiki. If he gets too much time to think, he’ll figure out you’re lying about his sister’s death. What happens then?”

He shrugged off her concern. “It was a kindness he needed.”

“No, _you_ needed him _functional_.”

“That, too,” he said curtly.

“I wasn’t disapproving. I’m just wondering if you have a plan in place for when he breaks.”

Rather than answering her, Kyouraku-taichou called out to Hoshibana, asking for a status on the enemy’s approach.

“They’re approaching from, ah... They’ll arrive at the door that’s just behind Hisagi... fukutaichou.” Lisa saw Hisagi forcibly not wince at the awkward pause before his rank. “You have perhaps ten minutes before they’re on top of you,” Hoshibana said with the sort of crispness that masked pants-crapping terror. “I suggest you move now if you’re going to reach those caves in time.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Grimmjow said just as Hanatarou said much the same thing (but a little more slowly due to using proper grammar).

“The caves you mentioned are too far away,” Hanatarou said. “And besides--”

“Only way to get there from here’ll drop us right in Aizen’s lap,” Grimmjow concluded.

Hanatarou nodded. “He’s right.”

Grimmjow looked pleased at the affirmation, then he blinked a couple of times before he and Hanatarou sidled a little further away from each other.

 _Now_ that _would make for an interesting buddy-adventure movie_ , Lisa thought.

“Plus, we’d have to find the place. Also, if we did make it there, our reiatsu signatures would burst out like fireworks once we leave the area,” she said, stomping on the dampening stone by way of emphasis. “If we’re going to have any kind of element of surprise, we need to stay shielded until the last possible minute. All the close-by fighting space sucks, but we need to stay as close to here,” she said, jamming a finger towards the floor, “as possible until just before we make our attack.”

Kyouraku-taichou studied her through hooded eyes ( _deceptively sleepy_ , she thought, _but then, ‘deceptively’ fits so much of what he does, and what else isn’t he telling us..._ ) for what seemed like too much of the ten minutes they supposedly had left.

“Hisagi-kun, run tell Kuchiki-taichou to meet us back here. Akira-kun, tell us everything you can about the surrounding area. What choices do we have?” he said, almost bored from the sound of it. He was doing what he could to support a wobbly Nanao, but the only way he could get her arm slung around his shoulders was to stoop. Lisa rolled her eyes, then grabbed little Hanatarou and gave him a rough shove by way of a clue.

“Also, tell us more about the two Vastolorde who are with him,” Lisa said, exchanging a glance with Grimmjow. Grimmjow scowled but nodded. A quick description should allow them to identify who they would be facing.

There weren’t too many Vastolorde left, but out of those few, some were much, much worse than others. Lisa clutched at Tonbo’s hilt as she waited to hear how bad it was.

“There’s a huge one, ridged skull, at least at as tall as Komamura-taichou--”

“Yammi,” Grimmjow and Lisa said at once.

“Tough guy?” Ikkaku asked in a way that suggested he hoped the answer was ‘yes.’

“Wiped the floor with Sado and Ichigo way back when,” Grimmjow told him with a grin that Lisa did not like at all. “What about the other?”

“Short, very pale, with the left side of his head covered by what looks like half a horned helmet.”

Grimmjow cursed like a trucker raised by sailors, but Lisa just nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Ulquiorra. Yammi’s little buddy. He’s also real trouble. Our plans to take out Aizen won’t mean anything if we have to cut through the two of them first.”

Nanao was finally on her feet, feebly slapping away Kyouraku-taichou and Hanatarou’s attempts to steady her. “What if we trap them in the same darkness we catch Aizen in?” Her voice was too shaky for Lisa’s liking. Also, that ‘we’ fooled absolutely no one.

“It adds too many variables,” Kyouraku-taichou said. “That would be bad enough as it is, but now? With you not having any experience with your new zanpakutou? It could be nothing short of disastrous. And there’s _no room_. We may need to look at retreat as an option. How far do these sekki-sekki--”

“Hold on!” Hoshibana’s voice rang from the ceiling. “Aizen is still headed straight towards the sekki-sekki zone where you’re standing, but the other two took a branching corridor...” What he said faded off into mild squabbling as he and Pagally debated over how to use the controls.

“I guess that’s good,” Ikkaku said, but he did not look well pleased.

“Dessert?” Ayasegawa suggested with an arched brow.

Lisa could see Hanatarou’s face squinch up as he tried to picture just where that corridor might go.

“This... hmm. This may not be good,” Hoshibana said. “The hallway they headed down could take them back to what I assume is the main courtyard, but if they take another left...”

There was a moment of dead silence.

“Which is exactly what they just did,” he said, voice flat as the sekki-sekki stone beneath their feet. “The Vastolorde are coming up at you from the opposite direction. There’s no way you can get past them.”

They only had about two minutes at most, but it seemed that everyone spent much longer than that looking at each other and _not doing anything_.

Nanao still seemed halfway stuck in wherever it was she had been, her eyes not really focusing on anything. Ayasegawa simply unsheathed his zanpakutou with the same calm as a cat who had its paw on a no-longer-struggling canary. Grimmjow bared his teeth in a grin that made him look like Ikkaku’s long-lost and more hirsute brother. Hanatarou closed his eyes in the sort of dread that was close kin to relief.

As for Lisa, even after a hundred years’ separation, her first instinct was to look to her captain.

More times than she could count during that hundred years, in moments of weakness when she indulged in self pity and/or alcohol, she would invariably end up with the same misery-mantra going round and around in her brain:

_If taichou was here, everything would be okay again._

He could be a complete idiot, their relationship had gone _way_ past unprofessional in so many, many ways, and he allowed her to give him the kind of shit that would have gotten her put in the stockades if she had been another fukutaichou in another division. but he was _her_ taichou, and there was _nothing_ he couldn’t do.

Actually, there were plenty of things he couldn’t do (e.g. anything involving poetry), but there was still a part of her who was the precocious little kid who had joined the Gotei 13 way, way too early for her own good.

And so, sometimes, when she missed Soul Society so much she could cry, or she was so tired of restraining her inner Hollow that giving up was beginning to sound like the sanest option, she would let herself daydream about him showing up and making everything _okay_.

Even now, she wanted to believe it, but how could she when he stood there half-starved and so weakened in mind and body?

He looked as dazed as Nanao and as sleepily content as Yumichika. All that meant, though, was that he was thinking and rearranging ideas and strategies at unimaginable speed.

At least, she hoped that was what it meant.

“Aizen knows we’re here,” he said at last. “He means to trap us on this sekki-sekki stone, and prevent us from opening a gate and making off with the prisoners he has such high hopes for.”

Something about the cold, brittle way he said that last bit turned Lisa’s stomach. She tried not to think of what they might have found instead of their captain if they had been even just a day later than they had been. “Classic pincer attack,” she said, deciding she would freak the fuck out later if there was indeed a later.

Of course, that’s when there was a flurry of activity at the far door that led to every single zanpakutou leaving its sheath. Under other circumstances, it might have been funny, the way Kurosaki’s eyes went wide as he stepped through the door.

“Um... we’re back?” he squeaked. Lisa covered her mouth - there really was nothing to smile about just then.

“The plan has changed?” Kuchiki managed to make a simple question sound like a cutting accusation.

“Only in the details of its execution,” Kyouraku-taichou said, voice smooth as smoked glass. “We face Aizen as we discussed, only the field has changed - and multiplied.”

He explained the situation succinctly and calmly, but Lisa saw him tense partway through, his attention suddenly shifting to a particular member of the group surrounding them.

Lisa followed his gaze without turning her head, and... _damn_. Kurosaki had gone from looking poleaxed to looking like he would start crashing about like a loose cannon.

“You’ll be needed here, Kurosaki-kun,” Kyouraku-taichou said, cutting off Kurosaki almost before the boy’s mouth had evened opened to say anything. “You haven’t seen Aizen’s shikai. That’s more important than whatever quarrel you have with those two Vastolorde, hm?”

Lisa remembered Grimmjow gleefully reporting how one of the Vastolorde had handed Kurosaki’s ass to him. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Inoue had gone ghastly pale, and Kurosaki kept looking to her, guilt and anger warring for ascendance.

“Kurosaki does have a point,” Kuchiki said, and everyone tacitly agreed to ignore Kurosaki’s startled ‘I do?’ “We cannot fight Aizen if our attention is divided. We need to keep the Vastolorde from engaging us here. Besides...” here he looked around the space they were in with undisguised disdain. “This is hardly an adequate space for a fight.”

“Well, shit,” Ikkaku drawled. His grin went wide and sharp. “Guess that means some of us gotta take the fight to those two assholes and keep them out of your hair.”

Kuchiki gave him a look that would have made most men wither with shame, but Ikkaku dismissed it with a sneer and a shrug. “The fight with Aizen’s gonna be all about kidou and illusions and crap. Sounds to me like you need ranged attacks and fancy tricks, not real fighting.” Another shrug. “What can I say? Ain’t my kind of brawl.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Kuchiki said. Lisa could tell that Kyouraku-taichou was fighting back a smile. She wondered if Kuchiki knew how well his sempai could manipulate people into acting as he wanted them to by merely sitting back and shutting up at the right times.

No one even bothered to comment when Ayasegawa fell into step alongside his old division-mate, but Kyouraku-taichou gave Lisa a _look_.

She nodded her understanding and followed the two Eleventh-division veterans. Someone had to keep an eye on those two knuckleheads. Grimmjow turned and stepped forward with a predatory grin, but then he stopped short and cocked his head as if listening to something.

“I got more of a beef with Aizen than with those two clowns,” he said with a dismissive air that fooled exactly no one. “I’m stayin’ here.”

“I’m sure the two of us can handle this ourselves,” Ayasegawa said, giving Lisa a look that wasn’t quite a glare.

Ikkaku grinned and his zanpakutou shifted from sealed form to its shikai without him having to say a word.

Lisa got the implication at once, and revised her estimate of his success upwards several notches. She didn’t have quite as good a party trick as that, but telling Tonbo to ‘smash’ was pretty impressive in and of itself.

Ikkaku’s eyes went wide.

“Mine’s bigger,” she said brightly. “Nice and long, and hard...”

As expected, Nanao went _bright_ pink.

“So tell me, Lisa-san. Just what kind of books _did_ you read to Ise-fukutaichou when she was young and so very impressionable?” Ayasegawa drawled.

She caught the spark of mischief in his eye and she leaned close to whisper in his ear.

“Look her way and laugh knowingly, all right?”

He did as instructed, practically _tittering_ , and pink turned to red as Nanao growled with mortification and frustration.

Then, she and the two Eleventh-division shinigami headed out the door. “We’ll be sure to catch up on our reading when I get back, Nanao-chan,” she called back over her shoulder. “I have some very... _stimulating_ books I think you’ll enjoy.”

The growl turned to a shriek that was drowned out by her taichou’s laughter. She didn’t say goodbye to them, but at least this time, they were parting in laughter, not in sorrow and fear.

* * *

“But –“ Kurosaki still seemed to feel the urge to say something, even if he didn’t have anything useful to contribute to the discussion, as Madarame and Ayasegawa and Yadomarou-sempai vanished round the corner.

“No time,” Kyouraku-taichou said. He raised his eyes to glare at the ceiling. “Hoshibana, can you hear us up there?”

“Yes, Kyouraku-taichou,” Hoshibana said. His voice was firm. Nanao wondered if his hands were shaking, or if he was gripping the arms of his chair. She knew that her knuckles were white, and she forced herself to relax her hands before anyone else could notice.

 _Soon, soon,_ Suzumushi whispered at the back of her mind in a rising susurration of eagerness.

 _I need to listen!_ she snapped at it. _Don’t distract me!_

“Hoshibana – or anyone else who’s in that room with him – if you see Aizen within eyeshot of our group,” Kyouraku-taichou said quickly, “then say ‘Green’ and give the approximate distance from whoever he’s closest to. If he moves to within striking distance, then the word is ‘Amber’, and whoever he’s closest to. If he engages with one of us – probably me – then say ‘Red’ and whoever it is. And give Nanao-chan here a bearing and distance for where he is, if you have had to call red, as she’ll need it. Do you have that?” He glanced around at the rest of the group. “Does everyone have that?”

Everyone was nodding. Kuchiki-taichou gave a sharp inclination of his head. Inoue Orihime chewed on her lower lip, furrowing her forehead in the sort of ‘I am honestly trying to concentrate’ look that she probably gave her teachers at school. Grimmjow rolled his shoulders, but grunted in acknowledgement, while Kurosaki and Hisagi both simply nodded, and Abarai gave a low grunt that might have been acceptance. Hanatarou swallowed, then ducked his head, his jaw clenched.

“Then let’s move. The sooner we engage him, the less chance that Aizen and the Espada will be able to combine forces.”

It wasn’t like running to battle in Soul Society, or in the alleys of Seireitei, or across the wild reaches of the outer lands. There was no fresh, moving air in this place, no natural light: there were no living smells except their own, and no sounds, no sounds at all. The air pressed around them like the tension of a drumhead.

Kyouraku-taichou and Kuchiki-taichou led the way. Nanao would have carried Inoue-kun, but Hisagi was already sweeping her up in his arms and running with her, ignoring her failed protest and Kurosaki’s attempt to be the one to carry her. Sensible. Kurosaki was a more immediate target for Aizen, and might need his hands free.

Kurosaki-kun ran with them, together with them and yet not quite part of the group, and a connection at the back of Nanao’s mind clicked over. All of them – all of the shinigami, that is – had learned to fight in a group when they were younger and less powerful. Even though every man of the Thirteen Divisions had to swing his own blade, they had been trained to cooperate when they were fighting a Hollow (or an instructor) more powerful than them. They knew _how_ to fight together. Even Eleventh Division – and probably Grimmjow – with their very definite and totally ridiculous views and perspectives on what was “proper” in a fight, were aware of how to work with each other.

Of course, Kurosaki had fought together with his friends before. She hoped that was an indication of experience. He’d trained under Urahara Kisuke and Shihouin Yoruichi. The thought reassured her.

The corridor ahead broadened out to a heavily warded doorway. It was the way that they’d come into this area. Nanao winced at the thought of having to unpick all the locks again.

Kyouraku-taichou shot a glance over his shoulder at the group, then came to a decision. “No time,” he said briefly. “Ichigo-kun? Open that door, please.”

Kurosaki blinked. “But I don’t have any kidou or any of that –“

“You don’t need kidou for what I would like you to do to that door,” Kyouraku-taichou said. “And closing it behind us again will not be necessary.”

“Oh,” Kurosaki said in tones of slow enlightenment. “Um . . . right. _Right._ ” He drew the oversized blade from its sheath on his back, and took a deep breath, pointing it towards the door. _”Getsuga Tenshou!”_

Shrapnel sprayed in all directions. Little pieces of the door and the frame bounced off into the far distance.

“Now that’s more like it,” Kyouraku-taichou said, and led the charge forward into the open space ahead.

The abrupt restoration of her normal senses, away from the constant surroundings of killing stone, hit Nanao like a dose of tea. She was abruptly more alert, more clear-thinking, more _aware_ of what was around her. Her mind seemed to uncoil and relax. Perhaps they really did have a chance –

“Red!” Hoshibana screamed, his voice shaking with fury and panic. “Red, Kyouraku-taichou! Two o’clock, 50 paces!”

Nanao’s heart thumped in her chest as she brought herself to a stop, her hand already closing around Suzumushi’s hilt. Half of her mind was protesting that she could _see_ Kyouraku-taichou ahead of her and already halfway down the corridor, but the other half was as cold as ice, as cold as the voices of crickets at midnight, as cold as people had always accused her of being, because right now she needed to be cold and to execute her part of the plan.

She turned to face the point that Hoshibana had given her, and set her feet. Her right hand moved in front of her, holding Suzumushi upright, and her left hand moved without automatic thought, on the prompting of another mind, a remembrance of a dead man, snapping her bare palm against the ring on Suzumushi’s hilt.

“Bankai!” she said, and Suzumushi spoke with her, through her, as the weight of it rang through her body.

The ring spun with a high ringing tone, swelling outwards – no, it wasn’t the ring that was expanding, it was a projection of the ring, an illusion that was as much an illusion as anything else that she could see, because nothing that could be seen _was_ real . . .

 _Is this Suzumushi, or is it an echo of Tousen, or both of them?_ Nanao thought, then upbraided herself for her lack of concentration. _If he escapes --_

 _There is no escape now that it is begun,_ Suzumushi answered her.

The ring split into more rings that swung out to encircle her. Without having to look, she knew that they formed a perfect circumference around her. **”Suzumushi Tsuishiki: Enma Korogi!”** she called out, and brought the sword down and across in a cut that sent the rings flying out in all directions.

And there was darkness.

It was a heavy darkness. It weighed on Nanao and made her bones ache and her eyes burn. Suzumushi’s earlier comment, _as long as your flesh will endure it_ , came back to her, and she knew that she could not sustain the bankai for very long.

She just had to hold it for long enough to kill Aizen. That was all. She promised herself, as if the act of making the oath could give her some additional strength. Just for long enough.

She still saw only what she had seen before. There was no change to her vision, no sudden appearance of Aizen or Kyouraku-taichou where she had been told that they were. She could see the others of the group, some of them caught in the darkness as well (so much for the plan about being able to stand outside it and move in, they should have got more detail on exactly how the bankai worked, but there had been no time), others outside it, and more to the point, she could see Kuchiki-taichou and Kurosaki. Kuchiki-taichou was only a pace away from her. He must have moved in close when he saw her activating the bankai. Kurosaki was further away, shaking his head as if he was trying to clear his vision. Abarai-fukutaichou was further out, crouched against the ground, clawlike hands digging against his eyes. She reached out with her free hand and caught Kuchiki-taichou’s left wrist, dragging his hand until it touched Suzumushi’s hilt.

He gasped as his fingers grazed the hilt, his eyes focusing as he seized it firmly, his hand clamping over hers. “Do you see him?” he demanded. There was no need to ask who the _he_ referred to.

“No,” Nanao said. “Kurosaki might –“

Kuchiki-taichou grabbed her round the waist and dragged her across to Kurosaki. She caught Kurosaki’s wrist, ducked his instinctive swing at her head, and forced Suzumushi’s hilt against his hand.

Kurosaki’s eyes focused on the pair of them. “So this is –“ he started.

“Yes,” Kuchiki-taichou answered. “A shame that its owner should have been so misguided. Had Tousen truly been loyal –“

Nanao was trembling with the strain of sustaining the darkness. It felt as if strength was running out of her like water. She already had to lean on Kuchiki-taichou far more than she wanted to. And her eyes, her eyes were like coals in her head, worse than the worst case of eye-strain she’d ever given herself from squinting at old texts late at night and in a bad light. “Gentlemen,” she broke in, giving her words the snap that she’d have given a particularly well-deserved rebuke to Kyouraku-taichou. (Please, please let him still be alive.) “I cannot sustain this as long as Tousen Kaname would have –“

 _No, indeed you cannot,_ Suzumushi said, and it sounded disappointed. _A little longer, just a little longer . . ._

Kuchiki-taichou drew his zanpakutou. “Kurosaki Ichigo, strike first,” he ordered. “Show me where to attack.”

“Be careful to keep it high,” Kurosaki said, “Kyouraku’s lying at his feet. I think he took a back wound. There’s a lot of blood. I think –“

“Is he alive?” Nanao demanded.

“Think so,” Kurosaki said. “But he’s not moving.”

“He knew the strategy,” Kuchiki-taichou said flatly. “He will be staying out of the line of fire.”

Nanao chose to believe that. It was a deliberate choice, because it left her a little more focus and a little more strength to hold the bankai with. It felt as if she was bleeding her life out through her hand and into the zanpakutou. Her breathing rattled in her ears. Everything was in black and white. She jerked a nod, setting her teeth.

“Bankai!” Kurosaki shouted, drawing his zanpakutou. “Tensa Zangetsu!” Reiatsu beat around him in a silent thunder. For a moment Nanao was afraid that Aizen might be able to sense it, but common sense reassured her that the bankai must deafen those within it to reiatsu just as it did to everything else; it would be of little use otherwise. His blade was smaller now, and even in the darkness, it gleamed an intense black.

Kuchiki-taichou frowned. “Scatter, Senbonzakura,” he murmured. The blade dissolved in his hand into a flutter of petals, a swirl of motion that flickered around them, tiny and edged. The level of reiatsu around Nanao rose higher, and she had to work to control her breathing, caught between the two of them.

 _It’s not as bad as Yamamoto-soutaichou was,_ she told herself. _I just have to hold it. Just a bit longer. Just long enough. I swear it -_

“Getsuga Tenshou!” Kurosaki declared. His blade cut through the air, and a black bolt of energy drove along its path, coming to an abrupt halt perhaps thirty paces away, towards the far side of the open space formed by the intersection of the wide corridors. Try as Nanao might, she could see nothing there. Nothing at all. But the bolt of energy struck something, for it went no further.

“Ah. Now I have it.” Kuchiki-taichou gestured with his free hand, and Senbonzakura’s petals drove towards that spot in a bone-pale sweep. He frowned a little, twisting his fingers, and the petals curved back and forth, patterning through the air. “Kurosaki Ichigo, are they affecting him?”

“He –“ Kurosaki frowned. “He shrugged off my blast, I think. Mostly. He’s got some sort of power kidou shield around him.”

“What, in this?” Kuchiki-taichou turned to give Nanao a coldly accusing look.

“He must know what this bankai does,” Nanao said. Her mouth was dry, and she had to speak carefully so as not to stumble on her words. “He could put up a shield through the standard forms, even if he couldn’t sense it activating. You must – must cut through it.” She blinked. Her eyes were burning now, hot and painful, and she wanted to bring her free hand up to rub them, but something told her that giving way to it would only make it worse.

“Use your bankai, Byakuya!” Kurosaki demanded. “If we combine it –“

“I cannot,” Kuchiki-taichou said, and his voice was as close to killing as Nanao had ever heard it. “We must keep hammering at him. Use what strength you have. If he gets out of this untouched . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Kurosaki hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed dryly. “I – the only way I can get more strength is to do _that_.” He gestured at his face. “But if I do, then – if I lose control again –“

“Then do not lose control,” Kuchiki-taichou said. He turned from Kurosaki and Nanao to gesture again, and his blades fell through the air in a killing spiral of light against the darkness.

“Shit. _Shit!_ Getsuga Tenshou!” Kurosaki threw another blast of black fire towards where Aizen must be. His hand was trembling where it lay across Nanao’s hand on Suzumushi’s hilt. “Shit! I can’t do this!”

“Then we are all dead, or worse,” Kuchiki-taichou said. “But if you will not hazard yourself for your own life, then consider Inoue Orihime. Of all the people here, she at least deserves better.”

“You bastard!” Kurosaki shouted. “How can you say that when your own sister –“

Kuchiki-taichou’s reiatsu rose even higher. “And what of _your_ sisters, Kurosaki Ichigo? If Aizen lives?”

“I cannot hold the bankai for very much longer!” Nanao gasped, forcing the words out of her mouth. There was a distant roaring in her ears, like hourglasses running down to emptiness, dry sand thundering. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the strain of keeping them open. They were like live coals in her head, and she was burning away. “In the name of all the gods, do it!” _Or Kyouraku-taichou may have died for nothing . . ._ “The middle of a fight is no time to argue standards and ethics! Bring him down and finish it!”

* * *

The Hollow was dancing at the back of Ichigo’s mind, jeering and stamping loud enough that it seemed strange that Byakuya and Ise couldn’t hear him. _See? You’re no use to them. They’d rather have me than you!_

 _Shut up,_ Ichigo thought desperately. _Stop fighting me! If we don’t beat Aizen, then you’re just as dead as I am? Do you really think he’ll want you back now?_

 _You really are the most useless wielder of a sword ever,_ the Hollow sneered. _Do you think I even care if he wants me back?_

_Then what do you want?_

_Right at this minute? I want you to fight, moron! What do you **think** I want?_

_Then you won’t fight me?_

_You still don’t get it, “King”, and I’m not sure you’re ever going to get it, but for the moment let’s just kill this asshole. Trust me. I’ll only interfere if you look like losing. Do you want to lose?_

_No._ Ichigo felt the certainty of the word curdle like spoiled milk in his stomach. It was true. He couldn’t afford to lose. Whatever it cost. _No. I don’t want to lose._

Ichigo touched his right hand to his forehead, the metal of his zanpakutou hilt cool against his skin, then moved his hand down across his face. The mask came spilling down across his flesh, familiar and almost comforting, and he felt his reiatsu jump with it until it seemed to be burning in his veins. Next to him, Ise moaned, her whole body trembling and her hand fever-hot where it touched his.

”Getsuga Tenshou!” he roared. The power scythed through the air towards Aizen, and rebounded from his shield, but was that –

Yes. Aizen had frowned.

He threw bolt after bolt of power at Aizen, till the air was thick and choking with it. He would have run in to strike at Aizen directly, dragging the other two with him, but some instinctive caution kept him back.

 _Afraid, “King”?_ the Hollow taunted.

 _Let’s get that shield down first,_ he answered it.

“Can’t – I can’t . . .” Ise gasped. She was sagging at the knees, and there was something wrong with her eyes, but he didn’t have the time to work out what.

Byakuya shifted his grip on the strange zanpakutou to his other hand, and threw his arm round her waist, holding her upright. “Kurosaki Ichigo!” he barked. “Is he vulnerable yet?”

Ichigo took a deep breath. **”Getsuga Tenshou!”**

And the bolt ripped through Aizen’s shield, washing across his body in black fire. Aizen staggered. There was an expression on his face now. Anger.

“Yes!” Ichigo exulted, his Hollow screaming in delighted echo. “Move your blades in, we’ve got him!”

Byakuya nodded. Senbonzakura’s blades sliced in at Aizen, and Ichigo threw another Getsuga Tenshou strike at him. For the moment, he was in control. Completely in control.

* * *

It had worked. The damn thing had actually worked. Hisagi lowered Inoue-kun to the ground, and took a deep breath of relief when she was no longer pressed against him.

“So how long’s it going to last?” Grimmjow demanded. He took a half-pace forward. “You think we should go in there and head for the centre? That’s where Aizen will be, right?”

“If you do, you won’t be able to see a thing,” Hisagi said. The darkness seemed to ripple in front of them, like the surface of a bubble. Half of him expected to see Tousen-taichou come striding out, blade naked in his hand . . .

 _And what the fuck would you do then?_ Kazeshini demanded. _Ask for orders?_

“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered. The other two looked at him, and even Hanatarou, well in the rear, gave him a nervous glance. He raised his voice. “Be on your guard. This may go down at any minute, and then we’ll have Aizen to deal with.” He drew Kazeshini from its sheath, ready to invoke shikai.

 _And fuck-all of a plan as to how to deal with him,_ Kazeshini put in. His mental tone was sharp and even nagging, but Hisagi could taste something behind it now. Fear. Kazeshini was afraid.

Inoue-kun was fretting, chewing her lower lip, her fingers moving nervously. “I wish there was some way I could reject his hypnosis on you,” she said. “But nothing special happened when I was healing people earlier. And I can’t just – reject him.” She turned away, eyes shadowed.

“Why not?” Grimmjow demanded. “You changed me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I was healing you!” Orihime protested. “I was rejecting your Hollowness! I can’t reject a human being!”

Hisagi held up a hand to stop Grimmjow before he could shatter the girl’s confidence any further. “Right. It’s okay. We know you don’t have a zanpakutou like we do.”

Inoue-kun’s jaw dropped. She turned to look fully at Hisagi, and it was as if someone had lit a fire behind her eyes. She bounced up onto her toes, clasping her hands. “Yes! Yes, that’s _it_!”

 _You are **not** giving me to her,_ Kazeshini snarled. _I don’t care what the fuck she thinks she can do if someone gives her a sword. She can go borrow Hanatarou’s or something._

“Inoue-kun –“ Hisagi started, trying to think of a way to talk her out of it.

“I can reject his zanpakutou!” She jumped up and down again. “Hisagi-san! Grimmjow-san! I know I can do it! If you can get it for me, I can reject his zanpakutou! And then –“

 _Could it work?_ Hisagi demanded furiously.

 _. . . it might,_ Kazeshini answered. Hisagi felt the zanpakutou shudder under his hand. _It might._

Grimmjow grabbed the girl’s shoulder, forcing her to stay still. “You serious about this? You can actually destroy the bastard’s hypnosis?”

“Well – it should work!” She paused, then said hopefully, “Shouldn’t it?”

“Right,” Hisagi said. “We can’t tell the others till they’re out of there, and we can’t say this where Aizen can hear it. But the moment we get the chance, Grimmjow, we go for that sword and we give it to Inoue-kun, and then we hold Aizen back till she can blow the damned thing back to the hells it came from. I’ll try and entangle him with my zanpakutou. You go for the snatch. Right?”

“Right,” Grimmjow said. “If we can see him.”

“We’ll just _have_ to see him. Pagally, you hear me?”

“Yes, Hisagi-sama,” her voice floated down. “But we can’t see inside that dark space!”

“That’s all right. It shows it’s working.” He kept his voice calm, reassuring. “Did you hear the plan?”

“Yes, Hisagi-sama. Do you want me to tell you and Grimmjow where Aizen is? When we can see him again?”

“Yes,” Hisagi said. “Wait for a moment when he’s holding still, then give me a location and distance. You have that?”

“Yes, Hisagi-sama,” she said, her voice trembling. “Will you be able to hear us?”

“We can hear you now, can’t we?” Grimmjow snapped. “Just do it.”

A pattern of light flickered across the edge of the dark bubble, in long streaks like rays of moonlight. No sound came past its boundaries, no reiatsu, no force, nothing.

 _Let it be working,_ Hisagi prayed. _Let them manage to weaken them enough that we can spot him. Let it work._

 _Less prayers, more action,_ Kazeshini growled. _Call me up, Shuuhei. Call me out._

“Reap, Kazeshini!” he called, and the two scythes stood in his hands, the blades singing to him in hunger and readiness.

The darkness shattered like a glass lantern, immaterial pieces scattering outwards in all directions, and Hisagi flinched before he could stop the motion. He could see Ise and Kuchiki-taichou and Kurosaki all standing together, as if they were partnered in some clumsy dance: Ise was collapsing, with streaks of blood down her face, her hand clenched in a white-knuckled death grip on Tousen-taichou’s zanpakutou, and Kuchiki-taichou was holding her upright, while Kurosaki was mid-pose with his zanpakutou extended, a white bone mask across his face as it had been for all the past months. Kyouraku-taichou lay on the floor in a disarray of black clothing and blood. He wasn’t moving.

There was no sign of Aizen.

“He’s standing by – no, he’s moving! –“ Pagally began, her voice shaking.

Kurosaki howled like a madman and flung himself across the open space towards where Kyouraku-taichou lay sprawled. Then he vanished, like a ghost in daylight, but his reiatsu still pulsed in the air. Part of a wall went flying.

“The fuck?” Grimmjow exclaimed.

It was obvious enough to Hisagi. “Kurosaki can see Aizen, so Aizen doesn’t want us to see where Kurosaki’s attacking. Inoue-san, can you –“

“Right there,” Inoue said, pointing at an empty space of floor. Large chunks of ceiling came down with a crash. “But they’re moving,” she added unhelpfully. “They’ve both got their swords drawn.“

Hisagi did not want to jump into the middle of a fight between Kurosaki and Aizen when he couldn’t see either of them. Especially when he couldn’t see either of them. “Pagally,” he said to the air, “get ready to give me a location the moment they stay still.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Aizen’s voice drifted across the battlefield like a curse. Both Inoue and Hanatarou shuddered. “I had hoped to avoid this –“ For a moment his breath caught, and Hisagi wondered if Kurosaki had chosen that moment to strike. “But ultimately I must discard you, after all. Kyouka Suigetsu –“

Hisagi knew, he _knew_ what Aizen was about to do, and despair struck him like a blade in the guts. If Aizen invoked his shikai in front of Kurosaki and Inoue, and all the others watching them from the spy-room, then they would have no chance at all. Ise-fukutaichou was on her knees now; she wouldn’t have the strength to use Suzumushi again. He couldn’t see Aizen now. He could throw himself at him, but that might just mean he was throwing himself between Kurosaki and Aizen so they’d both end up stabbing him at the same time. And maybe that would even be the best way to go. With no hope left at all, a simple death might be a fate that some people would envy, that a sane person would choose. Perhaps . . .

 _Lackwit!_ Kazeshini screamed inside him. The zanpakutou’s voice shook with fury. _Moron! Fucking imbecile! It’s not over! If you give up on me now, I swear I’m going to tear your head off your shoulders!_

 _What do you want me to do?_ he demanded as Aizen’s voice caressed the air. A bolt of power with Kurosaki’s taste to it thundered into existence and smashed the far wall. _I can’t see him! I thought – but it didn’t work, it’s not going to work. We’ve wasted everything!_

 _You may not be able to see him,_ Kazeshini hissed, _but with him using it for shikai, **I can see Kyouka Suigetsu**! I see him! I SEE HIM!_

“Shatter . . .“

No time to think about it. _Be my strength,_ Hisagi breathed in the centre of his mind to Kazeshini. _Reap, Kazeshini!_

As the air filled with blue and green, Hisagi heard himself laughing – like a stranger, but in his own voice – and he leapt at Aizen, Kazeshini’s chains spilling out from between his hands.


	48. Ensemble: On Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isshin, Ryuuken, and Yoruichi face off against Szayel.

"One last thing..." Yoruichi did what Isshin hadn't dared to do for months. She stood squarely in front of Ryuuken and lifted the man's chin, so that she could look eye-to-eye at him. "Ryuuken..."

"You address me far too intimately, shinigami." 

Isshin bit his lower lip and saw Yoruichi frown. "Former." Ryuuken snorted. Yorichi let it slide. "Ishida-san, then. Please. Don't let yourself be known to the Arrancar, until we've lured him out, and if you can, take the surprise shot."

Ryuuken's slight smile was as cold as the ice in his hair. "As honorable as any Captain that reported to that deceitful old fire dragon of yours..."

Yoruichi took a breath.

Ryuuken speared the hesitation, "... but, yes. I shall do as you ask, oh ex-Captain of the Secret Division."

Yoruichi's sour look faded when she glanced over at Isshin, and he nodded his approval of her tactics. She nodded and stepped up to the parapet. 

"One..."

Isshin had never been a particularly contemplative man. The right thing to do was always right in front of him, so he did it. It was a family trait, he knew. Kaien, Kuukaku, and Ganju were no better than he was at holding back. Regret wasn't a strong suit either, though he knew his heart ached when he thought of Kaien and ached deeper, now, when he thought of Tatsuki-chan. He wasn't good at shying away from hurt, either, so he thought about Ichigo, what it would mean to lose the child he'd raised from a laughing armful into the unruly, resentful, powerful young man who'd gone off to fight for those he loved. Engetsu's heat flickered against his palm when grief, rage, and loss wrapped around Isshin's heart.

Ishida Ryuuken's glasses were half-covered in snow, but they glinted when the administrator looked at Isshin. He'd always been more sensitive than Isshin to reiatsu. Let Ryuuken believe that Isshin grieved; it was close enough. The cold, empty gaze turned back down to the Hollows that were beginning to pick themselves up from where they'd screamed and writhed from their transformation.

"Two...

Shihouin Yoruichi had told Isshin, alone, that Uryuu was dead, and while she'd said that there was hope for Ichigo, what she hadn't said could have filled oceans. Isshin held no illusions about what Aizen might have done to his son. Some might say that Ryuuken had the better end of the deal; if Uryuu had passed on, then no one could hurt him anymore. But Shibas were also a notoriously optimistic clan. Better alive and kicking than finished and done. Waves of heat rose from Engetsu's blade.

Isshin shifted, grip tightening, weight beginning to fall forward. He saw Yoruichi take a breath to speak the last number.

"Three."

He leaped for the fray.

Instinct and training took over. Yoruichi's reiatsu was as monstrous as his own, and she did not get in his way. They cut through the swath of struggling, newly-created Hollows like scythes through wheat, sending the ragged tag-end souls on as quickly and cleanly as possible. Isshin had never gotten exactly how it was Yoruichi could send souls on without even the appearance of her zanpakutou, but he wasn't going to quibble now about that.

All he cared about was that they were leaving this battlefield.

A Hollow roared and tried to bite Isshin's head off. Isshin placed the point of Engetsu where it would enter the roof of its mouth and let the Hollow do the work of impaling itself on his sword. The creature blew to dust. These were just small fry. A distraction while the main event pulsed in the sky above. The portal was growing.

Hollows began to pour out, pushing the hapless new Hollows toward them. Yoruichi spun, bounding about like a cat let loose amid a pen full of crickets, each pounce and hit followed by a puff of dust. There was something odd about how she moved, but Isshin didn't have the attention to figure out exactly what it was. She was holding her own, that was enough.

Especially when there were dozens of the things coming at him. Isshin saw up close the living bone and layered fascia of wet-looking masks. Most of the creatures were dressed in white, but with blade-thin black slashes in sets of three down their fronts and black lines rayed out from their eyes. That wasn't a sign that Kurotsuchi used, so these probably belonged to the Arrancar that was coming, and were disgusting enough that they were probably some kind of lab experiment. He cut through them as well. They weren't quite as easy as the confused new Hollows, but they weren't even a workout.

Pink. He caught a glimpse of pink for just a second before the reiatsu rolled over him like waves of cloying perfume: sweet unto sickness, rich unto rot. Isshin gagged, eyes watering, but deliberately kept both hands on his zanpakutou. Yoruichi paused too, her headlong rampage suspended in mid-air. She stood up in the air as easily as on the ground, showing off her Captain-level powers.

Isshin sighed and deliberately stepped up to be level with her and the pink-haired slender man, who had slipped through the portal behind the ravening horde. The edges of the opening coruscated with bright pink, blue, and silver energy as if announcing the entrance of some magical girl. 

Isshin couldn't help it, he snorted. 

The elegantly tall Arrancar stiffened and tossed his pink hair, deliberately curving his back and cocking one hip. 

Isshin started giggling. Sure the reiatsu off the guy was nasty and huge to boot, but... "Wooo, man, you're way too pretty to fight!"

A scream of rage ripped across the two city blocks between them, and the guy's killing intent tried to freeze Isshin's blood in his veins. Isshin only laughed harder. Fighting adrenaline never got in the way of a good hoot, and from past experience, the laughter would clear Isshin's head enough to see the real threat.

"You ignorant, howling ape! You're no match for me! _Fornicaras, Susure!"_

Isshin watched, disbelieving, when the damned fool took his sword and swallowed it.

"What the fuck?" he murmured.

Yoruichi shook her head at Isshin. 

The guy swelled and grew. The dark markings surrounded his eyes like the eyes of some of those Hollows coming out with him. There were purple ornaments hanging off of him, gray branches grew from his back like the bones of wings, nails turned into purple claws, and his legs turned into... 

"Are those tentacles?" Isshin asked. "Really?"

Yoruichi coughed.

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Isshin insisted. "Hey, Mister! You need some help!"

Yoruichi's eyelid twitched.

"We're fighting a freaking hentai self-fornicating Arrancar?" Isshin asked her, disbelieving and loud enough for the whole city block.

Szayel's shriek ripped shingles from the roof under Isshin. 

"Nicely done, enraging an opponent should help," Yoruichi said, conversationally. "Look out."

And the fucking Arrancar started spurting black liquid everywhere. Yoruichi flashed away, Isshin leaped from where he'd been standing, but the stuff fell like black rain. He worked his way toward the school roof and felt the liquid hit his black robes and it burned where it touched him. Bodies started to grow wherever the droplets touched, and to Isshin's shock, they looked like him. Isshin wondered, idly, if the tales about the Goddess of Flashstep being able to dodge every drop of a thunderstorm were true, when he saw Yoruichi explode into visibility inside Szayel's distance and land a kick that should have knocked the idiot into next week. Instead, one slender wrist blocked Yoruichi's foot without so much as a shudder.

"I've studied you," Szayel said softly, and Isshin felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the Arrancar's tone. "And I've made enhancements."

A Sonido sounded, and Yorichi went flying through her doubles and some Hollows before smacking into a wall hundreds of yards away. So she hadn't dodged quite quickly enough. Isshin noted that the doubles didn't react nearly as quickly as Yoruichi herself or Isshin. They only looked alike.

Remembering Yoruichi's instructions to Ryuuken and her warning to stay the fuck away from touching the pink guy, Isshin ran in the opposite direction Yoruichi had been thrust, trusting her sense of strategy and her ability to get up after taking a fall. Behind him, he heard the wall falling into debris, the drop of rock and wood and other unmistakable sounds of destruction. Good girl, taking the wall apart.

"You fool!" Yoruichi's tone rang out, and Isshin wasn't even tempted to look. "You can only prepare for what you have seen, and neither of us has shown the weak what we can truly do."

"Then by all means..." Szayel turned toward her, and Isshin had to just shake his head in approval at Yoruichi's abilities to gain the enemy's attentions. "Show me. I'm curious what inferior beings such as yourself can..."

Isshin cut the side of his forearm, spilling blood onto the blade of Engetsu. He dodged one swipe by a sun-eyed double and tumbled forward to escape the pouncing punch of a faux-Yoruichi. They weren't even as fast as the Nemu duplicates. What was this about villains always making piss-poor copies of people?

His blade ignited, and Isshin concentrated on pushing everything he had into it. Engetsu blazed high. Yoruichi yowled. Isshin whirled and hoped to hell that Ryuuken was watching and hadn't either fallen asleep or just given up on them both.

 _"Getsuga Tensho!"_ Isshin cried, and brought Engetsu down with both arms. Light cut the air, blasted into the ground, cut through dozens and dozens of duplicates and minions as if they were nothing more than chaff, blowing them in all directions. Dust clouds rose in the aftermath, and when they all cleared away, a handful of figures were all that were left in a crater that glowed.

Sadly, one of them was the tentacle-winged crazy who was smiling at him. 

"Is that all?" Szayel asked with a lilt.

"Uhm..."

A bolt of lightning cracked the air with a sizzling snap of ozone. Ryuuken's shot went right for Szayel's heart. The dammed Arrancar held up one hand and the spirit arrow disappeared into nothing.

"I have studied a Quincy unto death," Szayel said contemplatively. "My defenses are unparalleled against your stupid spirit arrows." A slow sneer curled one thin lip, when Szayel's gaze went up to where Ryuuken stood on the edge of the roof. "Maybe you know my subject?"

Duplicates dropped from tentacle wings. They were all slender boys with flat cut hair, glasses, and spike-ringed eyes.

"Oh, shit," Isshin whispered to himself and flash-stepped away from Szayel as fast as he could go.

* * *

Ryuuken saw Uryuu's doubles drop and stumble toward him, horrible parodies of his one son, truly the last of the Quincy line.

He'd thought the world too cold and felt the irony when the whole world flashed into a pyre with his rage. He yanked reishi from all of existence, seeing duplicates, Hollows, even the borders of Szayel's gate fray and unravel toward him. Hirenkyaku brought Ryuuken close enough to see the whites of Szayel's eyes.

Ryuuken destroyed all of existence around him with every ounce of energy at his disposal. There was no counting the arrows he fired. Out of the corner of his eye Ryuuken saw the flying heels of Isshin's sandals going over the edge of the roof. The slip of a shadow woman was nowhere to be seen. The building below him and Szayel collapsed in a satisfying boom, becoming a sliding, cratering pit of dust and shards. The duplicates blew away into shadows against the cracking, parting concrete. The figure standing in the heart of Ryuuken's fires flickered, flared, and to Ryuuken's disbelief, stood firm.

When Ryuuken's vision cleared, Szayel sneered. The pink tips of his hair were singed, and soot smudged the white under the eye with many legs around it.

"See?" Szayel said. "You can't touch me. I, on the other hand...."

Szayel had slid two feet of cloudy layered zanpakutou into Ryuuken so quickly Ryuuken didn't think he'd have noticed if not for how cold the steel felt. He swallowed a cough, and Szayel smiled and with a jerk pulled the sword up and to the side. It felt like strings through his body had been cut, and Ryuuken collapsed as blood flew from his mouth. Ryuuken had to use his bow as a crutch to catch himself before his body fell to the ground. 

Szayel's wings swayed when he brought his sword up to take off Ryuuken's bowed head, but then Isshin's reiatsu flared. Isshin's zanpakutou was wreathed in flames, and point-blank, Isshin shot the edge, both physical and spiritual, through Szayel's side and up and through, snapping the ribs of Szayel's narrow chest. Ryuuken could see the edges of pink bone.

Szayel grunted, convulsed in effort, and while Isshin's sword was still stuck in Szayel's body, thrust talons into Isshin's gut. To Ryuuken's horror, Szayel staggered against Isshin and wrapped his wings around Isshin and forced his tentacles in after. 

"I will not die," Szayel snarled. "I can never die." 

The strands pulsed, and Isshin screamed. Ryuuken staggered toward him, not sure of what to do.

A blur whipped into the tangle of bodies, and Yoruichi appeared, arms and shoulders glowing with power, and the force of her unarmed strike blew Ryuuken back, tumbling him to the ground. Something snapped, and Ryuuken's pain abruptly ended. Ryuuken knew that wasn't a good sign. He managed to get his head up enough to see that all that was left of Szayel was a blackened stump, and that Yoruichi had crumpled beside Isshin, cradling her left arm close to her body and biting her lower lip until it bled.

There was only silence and the gasping grunts of Ryuuken's own forced breathing and the bubbling of his blood through what must have been a hole in his lung. For a long moment, Ryuuken listened, and something like relief loosened his limbs when there were no other sounds. They were done. He could die.

Then Isshin screamed. The big man thrashed, arched, body twisting in agony. 

Ryuuken closed his eyes. They could take care of it. Isshin and Yoruichi were beyond capable.

Yoruchi, however, had rolled toward him, clear of Isshin's drumming heels and flailing fists. 

"What is it?" Ryuuken asked the snow-white sky.

"There's something in him," Yoruichi spat. 

Ryuuken remembered the pulsing of the thick strands going into Isshin. "Can't you just punch it out?"

"Not without killing him."

Ryuuken nodded. "It's probably entangled in his guts."

Yoruichi propped herself up on an arm. Ryuuken could see the irises of her golden eyes. Her pupils were tiny, tight, and he wondered if she was drugged as well as unhappy with what she was seeing. She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Probably."

"I shall triumph!" A tiny voice shrilled from within Isshin. "I will be reborn!"

Ryuuken imagined that it even sounded like the skinny Arrancar. He sighed and reached into a back pocket for three silver vials. He hated using the things. They reminded him of Uryuu, but with his body this broken, it was necessary. And this near to the end of all things, it wouldn't really matter if he broke a rule or two.

He opened the vials, spilled the liquid into his mouth, and the reishi felt hot against his tongue, warming Ryuuken through like sunlight on thaw. 

"Ahh..." Ryuuken said quietly, and using the spiritual energy, he spun threads through the air and pulled his disobedient body up by them. Ransotengai would have to do. He still couldn't feel anything from the waist down, but he could place his legs and feet into the stance he needed. "Pick him up, Shihouin-sama. Keep him still."

Yoruichi snorted, but did as Ryuuken asked. She used her right arm to pick Isshin up by the scruff of the neck; her left hand and arm were still curled protectively against her chest. Isshin thrashed again, but she shook him like a terrier shaking a rat. Isshin yelped in protest.

"Be still, or I'll kill you," Ryuuken said, and saw Isshin's bloodshot eyes roll toward him. Whatever it was that Isshin saw caused his eyes to widen and show whites, and Isshin froze in Yoruichi's grasp.

Ryuuken pulled his bow from the air, no, truly from the threads of energy that surrounded him. The blowback of the Arrancar's first death, the wisps of soul left after Isshin had smashed Hollow and doubles alike, the curling tendrils that rose from Yoruichi's slender form. He pulled them all to him.

"Hey," she said, and he smiled his slight smile and loosed the ones from her. She shrugged them into herself. Suddenly, Ryuuken could see that her left arm and hand were dying, the blackening of vitality withdrawing from the poisoned limb. 

"You should get that seen to," he said.

Isshin twitched in Yoruichi's hold, his entire body quivering in pain as the thing within his guts started grabbing more of him, sucking in his soul and life energy the way Ryuuken pulled it from the very air. 

Yoruichi's mouth turned wry. "You're one to talk. You need to get it out of him. Now."

Ryuuken raised one eyebrow, but before Yoruichi could throw herself on him, snarling, he did what he'd done all his life. He pulled the string of his bow.

The accuracy of a bowman is like unto that of a swordsman. It's not in the thinking and over thinking, not in the planning of the attack. It's not in the aiming or posturing or even really in the eye or hand. It's in the body, the soul, stamped in, molded in by hours, years, decades of doing the same thing over and over and over again with exactly the same motion and seeing the arrow fly true. It's doing it under pressure, under fire, in pain, and running through a gamut of emotions that would pay the salaries of ten thousand psychiatrists. 

So without thinking, aiming only so much as he ever did, Ryuuken smoothly pulled and fired in the blink of Yoruichi's eye. The shining shaft slid through the air and into Isshin's gut, pushing, punching, cutting into the thickest part of the writhing bulge that distended the abdominal walls. Ryuuken willed the energy higher, the momentum to dislodge and remove, much as he'd done when Uryuu had been blocked. And out the other side of Isshin shot a mewling, writhing thing, slimed with blood and worse.

Yoruichi shouted a kiai that echoed against the hospital walls, the right side of her body blazing. She fell on the thing and blasted it into cinders and a charred mark on the sidewalk. The reaction to her power sent her spinning to her left. She landed with a thud, but Ryuuken saw her shake herself off and get up again. She would be all right. 

Isshin had fallen to his knees. His reactions had allowed him to catch himself with his zanpakutou, the tip of Engetsu sank deep into concrete, but Ryuuken's friend was up and a going concern, now.

Ryuuken cut the strings of his own will and crumpled to the sidewalk. He rolled his upper body so that he could see the whitened sky.

"Ryuuken!" Isshin's shout sounded horrified.

"What?" Ryuuken asked quietly.

Isshin crawled over to Ryuuken, his big hands starting to straighten Ryuuken's twisted body, probing at Ryuuken's back. 

"Don't!" Ryuuken snapped. "Stop wasting your energy, Isshin."

"What?"

"Your girls. You have to go save your girls." Ryuuken saw the wisps of smoke coming from the direction of Urahara's shoten. There was an explosion to punctuate the silence. "You can't save me. I know what these injuries are, Isshin. I'm not some stupid teenager who has no idea how far he's gone beyond his abilities. I know."

"You..." Isshin choked. Ryuuken suddenly realized that, as always, Isshin would never do the right thing for himself or for Ryuuken's sake. Of course.

"Save Masaki's daughters," Ryuuken whispered, and this time he had to close his eyes. He couldn't look at the man who'd rescued and taken the woman Ryuuken had always loved. "Fuck you, shinigami." Even Ryuuken couldn't tell if he aimed that arrow at Isshin or all of Soul Society. "Go. Save what's left of her."

Isshin made a sound of pain, worse than any of the cries the Arrancar had twisted out of his guts. At that Ryuuken had to open his eyes again, to witness as the stubborn bastard got up off the ground. His head was lowered like a wounded bull's, and he glared down at Ryuuken.

"I won't forget you."

 _You should._ Ryuuken couldn't be quite that cruel, not now. He felt the warmth of his blood seeping against the whole of his shoulders and back. He was dying. He could be free of this life, free of his grief for his child, free of the demands of the Quincy, and finally free of all his obligations to this stupid, courageous, crazy man standing over him. Ryuuken was finally free to speak as he truly wished. 

"Thank you, Shiba Isshin." It was worth the effort it took, just to see the look on Isshin's face. "Hold me kindly in your thoughts, but stop trying to save me when I don't want you to. Go save the ones you love."

"But you..."

"Let me be, old friend. You know as well as I do how stubborn I can get."

Isshin snorted. Ryuuken smiled. "Go."

They left.

Ryuuken watched Isshin leap for the tops of the buildings in the direction of his children, and Yoruichi curling her arm close to her body as she followed, not letting Isshin see her hurt. 

"Idiots," Ryuuken murmured to the winter sky. "All of them. Letting their lives be taken over so."

His lower body was utterly numb, without pain or feeling, and the blessed cold was spreading. Alone now, he could face the fact that he'd been walking this path ever since Uryuu had disappeared. His son was gone, there really was nothing left to live for, certainly not the money he'd gone to such pains to pursue. Being Quincy had only ever filled him with disgust, and now he would take the very last of the Quincy powers into the grave with him. He would end the line.

Snow fell silently. Ghosts slowly crept out of hiding places in the shadows. Whiteness covered the still street, shrouding all the scorch marks, sprays of gore, and cracked divots. The body that lay there relaxed, hands opening to the tiny crystals, which melted at first, then stuck, and then covered Ryuuken in a blanket of purest white.

A slender, impeccably suited ghost rose. 

"Damn it," Ryuuken said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Where is a shinigami when you need one?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Sophiap and Incandescens for the beta for this chapter.


	49. Ikkaku, Yumichika, Lisa: Use Me While You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, winning isn't the most important thing about a fight.

Lisa and Ayasegawa were still stifling bursts of hysterical laughter as they hurried down the corridor towards their target. Madarame held a steady pace a few strides ahead of them, and Lisa was definitely enjoying the view.

“I’m surprised Nanao-chan can still get flustered after so many years of working with Kyouraku-taichou,” she said. This was no time to laugh, but that just meant she would savor this (hopefully not last) bout of merriment all the more for it.

“He watches himself around her,” Madarame snapped. “Doesn’t coddle her, but to him, she’s a _kid_.”

Lisa blinked, not sure what had changed the cheerful bloodlust into sharp and cold. Ayasegawa drifted closer to her, arm not quite brushing hers as he ran. “The Eleventh’s fukutaichou. She’s…” There was a silence that she didn’t know how to interpret, and she didn’t dare break her stride to look to him for clues. “She’s young. Nearly as strong a fighter as her captain, but still a child.”

“Right.” Still a child, and beyond ‘somewhere in Hueco Mundo,’ no one had a clue where she was. Lisa thought of the stark hallways, the twisted laboratories, the sterile yet profoundly unclean spaces and couldn’t begin to imagine a child surviving in this place.

To be frank, she also couldn’t imagine a child surviving, let alone thriving, in the Eleventh Division. But she could imagine Nanao-chan being lost, maybe even taken by the same thing that had turned her half-hollow.

Madarame stopped short and lurched back a step, arms outstretched. He nearly clotheslined Ayasegawa, but Lisa stumbled to a halt just before colliding with a rather impressive forearm. She grabbed his shoulder, not simply to grope but to move him aside.

“Huh.” 

The corridor opened onto a much wider space, if by ‘opened onto,’ you meant ‘stopped suddenly just before a hundred foot drop.’ There was a narrow ledge in front of them that extended the width of the corridor. A steep staircase led down on either side. No banisters or balustrades, of course. A similar ledge-and-stair arrangement graced the far end of the corridor, maybe a good three hundred feet away.

Madarame glared at the drop-off as if it had just made a bald joke. “Fuck. Fucking Sparkles shoulda mentioned something like this.” 

Lisa studied the area. “It probably just showed up as a wide area on the map. He wouldn’t have seen this…”

“It rather reminds me of a Hollow Pit,” Ayasegawa said with a sharp sort of quiet.

Lisa could see the resemblance, although the floor and the lower walls looked a lot rougher that Seireitei’s pits. It looked like whoever had cut the subterranean corridor had broken into a cave and simply worked it into their plans as well as they could. There were enough rocks and jagged bits below that to make the footing _suck_ but not enough to provide cover. If they went down there too soon, they could be easily sniped by whoever entered above. 

“You two are mostly melee fighters, right?” she asked. “Wait… Eleventh Division. Stupid question. My bad. But the long and short of it is, you two fight up close and personal.”

“Preferably.” Ayasegawa’s lips went thin, and he stared intently at the drop-off at the far end of the corridor. “I doubt you want me using my little ‘party trick’ here.”

Madarame grinned. “What? You mean you don’t wanna switch the odds around, and make this a better fight?” The grin turned to a grimace. “Forget that. Wasn’t funny. Look - I don’t even want to get to where we’re even _thinking_ of that as a last resort. There’s one thing I gotta make clear, though.”

Ayasegawa raised an eyebrow. Lisa nodded, giving Madarame the signal to go on.

“I want this to be a good fight. A _damned_ good fight. Something that’d make taichou and fukutaichou proud of us,” he said, jabbing his finger at the ground in emphasis. “And damn it, right now I _need_ a good fight, but that ain’t the most important thing here.”

“Are you sure you’re from the Eleventh Division?” Lisa quipped.

Ayasegawa let out a low, melodious laugh, and Madarame gave Lisa the sort of feral smile that had her vowing to keep this guy in mind for some fun afterwards. Assuming there _was,_ an afterwards.

“Oh, we very much are,” Ayasegawa drawled. “Both of us. As I’m sure you’ll see soon. But my dear friend Ikkaku is alluding to a conversation he and I had earlier today.”

“You mean the one we had after we beat the shit out each other?”

Lisa fake-coughed around ‘get a room.’

Madarame and Ayasegawa exchanged grins. “Hell, we may have to take you up on that one, darlin’.”

Lisa shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” She reveled in their stunned looks (Madarame’s morphing into a wicked smile, Ayasegawa’s into a contemplative and knowing gaze). “What? You’re not dealing with Nanao here. It takes a lot more than that to shock me. And if you’re serious, _I’m_ serious. But anyway, what were we talking about before we waded into debauchery?”

And just like that, the three of them were all business again.

“What he’s referring to is that there are times when winning is what’s important,” Ayasegawa said. “But sometimes…”

“Sometimes you just gotta _stop_ the other guy, no matter what, no matter how.”

“And if that means the best we can do is hold them until the others take down Aizen…?” Lisa prompted. She had to be sure they wouldn’t flake out on her.

Madarame looked like he wanted to vomit, and his words sounded as if they were causing him physical pain. He stared out into the open space, and Lisa wondered what he was picturing. “Yeah. That’s what we do. If that’s how it falls out, Kurosaki and the others can play mop-up.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Ayasegawa said as he stepped back into the shelter of the narrower part of the corridor. “Bloom, Ruri’iro Kujaku.”

Madarame blinked a couple of times, clearly taken aback by something, then deliberately released his own shikai without saying a word.

“Show off,” she muttered. He’d pulled that trick a little earlier, but with a lot more cockiness. She had picked up what it meant quickly enough, but now another implication slotted into place. This guy was a _third seat_. Lisa thought back to the Eleventh’s Klingonesque method of seat placement and revised the child-fukutaichou’s odds of survival significantly upwards.

“I ain’t gonna hold back like I did in Karakura,” he told Ayasegawa, and the way he refused to look at his friend said more than any more formal confession. “Soon as I go in, I’m bustin’ it out.”

Lisa had sealed Tonbo back up for their run through the corridors, and she hefted him thoughtfully. “If I release my shikai, I’ve got some ranged attacks I can use. Think dragonfly wings, but sharper. But in this case I’m better off fighting sealed - I can move faster and do a _lot_ of damage.”

“I think I’m in love,” Madarame drawled.

“Hush. That’s lust, not love. Not that I have any problem with that.” She racked her brain for what she’d heard about Yammi and Ulquiorra. “Yammi - he’s the big one with the stupid-looking red paint around his eyes, ugly as sin, bald...”

“Hey!” Madarame yelled. Ayasegawa snickered and markedly Did Not Say Anything.

“Touchy, touchy. Anyhow, expect brute force and arrogance. As far as he’s concerned, everyone he faces is considered a weakling until proven otherwise. You know the type?” 

Ayasegawa was nearly turning himself inside out with the effort of not saying anything.

“Ulquiorra’s smaller, but more dangerous. Fast, and vicious, but cold. No fear, no joy, no pride, no nothing. He won’t make mistakes in the heat of battle. Any thoughts, gentlemen?”

This time, Ayasegawa did say something.

* * *

When Yumichika said that he and that Lisa chick would take on Ulquiorra and leave Yammi to Ikkaku, Ikkaku could have been knocked over with one of Yumi’s fruity eyebrow feathers.

He looked to Yumichika who was doing that nonchalant act that fooled everyone but Ikkaku. All Ikkaku had to do, though was narrow his eyes just a bit, and Yumi gave him a bitter smile.

“As you said, it’s about stopping them. And from what I know of Ulquiorra, we may need to resort to… drastic measures in order to do that.” He then turned one of those goddamn fake-gentle smiles on Lisa. “Which means that I may be calling on you to take drastic measures of your, my dear. You did say you were _fast_ , yes?”

Oh, _fuck_. Going out in a good fight was one thing. This was... “What the… You can’t -”

Yumi held up a hand. “Oh, I absolutely can, but I won’t unless it’s that last resort you said you didn’t want to think about. I _would_ rather like to come out of this alive. After all, I do believe we have a suggestion for an activity for afterwards…?”

Lisa barked with laughter, then shook her head. “You guys are okay. So. Madarame. Bankai?”

Ikkaku hefted Hoozukimaru, trying to suss out if the sword would be balky or not. He got a deep red thrum of satisfaction and anticipation that didn’t quite answer his question. “It’s close quarters for it up here. You think they’ll take the low ground before we do?”

“Probably.” Lisa shrugged. “They don’t think we’re much of a threat.”

In another life - one that ended just a few months ago, for all it felt like years - he and Yumichika would have been standing out in that pit already, easy as anything, practically daring the Espada to come at them.

Fuck, he _hated_ lying in wait like this. But, given the reiatsu that was pulsing through the air, growing stronger and stronger, metallic like the taste of blood in his mouth…

He looked to his side, and damn if it wasn’t good to see that familiar, prissy face there again, right where it should be. Then, the trickle of reiatsu at the other side of the room became a flood, and Yumi gave him one of those slow, easy smiles. 

“Showtime…”

Ikkaku let out a whoop and simply jumped into the huge, empty space. He thought he could hear Lisa curse, and he _knew_ he heard Yumi’s laugh, echoing his own and Hoozukimaru’s. 

His timing was perfect, and he landed neat as you please on a plug-ugly noggin the size of Kuchiki’s ego.

 _This one’s for you, fukutaichou_.

Just as a casual ‘up yours,’ Ikkaku did a little pirouette on Yammi’s head. It was probably as close as he was going to get to his Luck-Luck dance - there would be no showboating except to draw attention so Yumi and Lisa could get their fight started without Yammi getting into the mix. That didn’t stop him from doing a few more steps after he leapt to the ground, just because. And if Yammi got a whack to the ass from Hoozukimaru on the way down, well…

Just because this was a serious fight didn’t mean it couldn’t be a whole lot of _fun_.

“Oho!” the big ugly fuck roared - and damn but his breath was _rank_. “Someone amusing to fight. Lucky!”

Ikkaku twirled Hoozukimaru’s tasseled end back and forth, slow as the tail of a contented cat. “Took the words right outta my mouth, pal. I ain’t had this much fun in _months_.”

He jumped out of the way as a giant fist slammed down, denting the ground where he had just been standing. And truth was, this _was_ fun, even if he was about to pull out all the stops on this joker and just try to stomp him flat rather than draw this out.

And the reason _why_ it was fun was swooping down that staircase like something out of a damn movie, death in his eyes and a fourfold blade in his hand.

“Hell, I’ll make this even more of a laugh riot!” Ikkaku stood up as straight as he could on the uneven ledge where he’d landed, and held Hoozukimaru straight out. “ _Bankai_!”

* * *

A tight cero beam burned straight towards him, and Yumichika flung himself from the stairs to the floor. He winced at the landing, not at the pain, but at the uneven ground forcing an inelegant stumble. He didn’t bother trying to cover it with a fancy move. This opponent was one he had to take very seriously indeed. Even from a distance, Yumichika saw emerald eyes flicker between him and Lisa, assessing.

Above them, Lisa took a leap and caromed off the wall to come from behind as Yumichika went straight in for an attack. Ulquiorra did not go for his sword, but Yumichika had expected as much. A few fragments of memory from his time tethered to Harribel told him what to expect next, and he brought Ruri’iro Kuujaku’s fanned-out blades _up_ just as Ulquiorra’s hand darted _out_. Normally, the next thing he should feel after this particular move would be the barely-there resistance of flesh, tendon, and bone, but Yumichika knew to grit his teeth and brace against hierro-enhanced solidity. It was like catching a steel beam between the blades of his sword, but in this case he didn’t need to cut - he simply needed to _hold_.

Lisa was little more than a flash of black and white as she came alongside him, and the thousand blows from her sword sang through his bones. He twisted away, hoping to wrench or dislocate something in lieu of cutting it. All they got from Ulquiorra for their pain was a faint _huff_ of disgust.

Still, Yumichika saw that Ulquiorra now held his arm to his chest a little gingerly. _Good_. Around them, gravel flew and rocks fell as Ikkaku and Yammi crashed around their makeshift arena, the familiar sound of Ikkaku’s laughter rising above the clatter and rumble.

“Shall we try this again?” Yumichika caroled, leaping at his opponent even as Lisa came in with another rain of blows too fast to be seen. He smiled at her, but instead of a return smile, he got an angular mask with two crossed slits. It barely distracted him - not even a split-second - but it was enough for a hand to dart past his guard and straight at his chest.

* * *

Ryuumon Hoozukimaru took on more power with each blow, but Ikkaku might as well have been Hanatarou for all the damage the goddamn Espada was taking.

“I thought you said this would be a _fun_ fight!” Yammi roared. He belched out another stinky-ass cero. Ikkaku blocked with his two hand-held blades, but was sent tumbling back. “Shoulda known it would just be some more trash to throw out.”

Ikkaku shook his head to clear away the stars and pretty little birdies. “Oh, fuck you!” He bounced back to his feet, Hoozukimaru’s central blade bobbing right back up to its usual spot behind him. There was nearly enough power to deliver one hell of a killing blow, but it might not be enough and then he’d be well and truly screwed.

He jumped up on to the closest stair, then back out, whirling Hoozukimaru over his head, gaining speed and churning up wind, and then they came _down_.

“I’ll show you trash!”

Hitting that big skull was like slamming into a mountain, and Yammi’s return blow smacked him into another wall, but at least this time he’d made the bastard bleed but good. Hoozukimaru’s crest surged blood red, and the same red pounded in his heart and in his eyes, and damn if maybe they were going to _win_ this...

* * *

If he’d tried to dodge to either side, that might have been the proverbial _it_ , but some instinct made Yumichika bend back and let his knees give beneath him. The blow that should have pierced his chest grazed across him instead and he heard the rapid _snap-snap-snap_ of ribs before he felt the surge of pain.

Fine. His ribs were broken. He could work with that. Although, the coppery taste at the back of his mouth was very much _not_ a good sign. 

Lisa landed another flurry of blows and came to a halt beside him. “My arms are starting to _hurt_. You okay?” The mask made her voice louder and more tinny at the same time.

Yumichika shrugged. “Merely a punctured lung. Nothing to worry about.”

“Eleventh Division… go figure,” she muttered before leaping back at their opponent. Yumichika lunged into another attack to try to keep Ulquiorra from dodging Lisa, and this time he thought he got a wince of pain in return for his trouble. Good, good…

The next cero was easier to evade, even though he found he was having some trouble breathing. And _this_ time, he came in low and hooked his blades around the dreary little hollow’s leg, pulling him straight into Lisa’s upside-down flying kick. He heard a satisfying _crack_ and hoped it was Ulquiorra’s nose and not something in poor Lisa’s foot. 

“Are you having fun yet, Ikkaku?” he wheezed.

* * *

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Ikkaku whipped Hoozukimaru round and round, sending dust and gravel flying. “Now THIS is a FIGHT!”

No doubt about it, this guy could have given taichou a run for his money. Maybe that was why using his bankai didn’t feel all that much like cheating after all. Here he was giving his all, and the other guy was taking it and taking it.

Okay, so maybe the other guy was also getting a little bigger, too…

So what? It didn’t matter, because Hoozukimaru was nearly full, and there was all that stuff about being bigger, falling harder, etcetera, et-freaking-cetera, and Yammi proved that nicely enough when Ikkaku’s next blow knocked him off his feet. The impact echoed through the cavern and sent a few stalactites falling to the ground.

Yammi was on his feet in the next breath. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.

“So you’re finally gonna draw your sword, huh?” Ikkaku taunted. “It’s about damn time you brought that out. Finally decided I was worth it? That I wasn’t just what was it… ‘trash’?”

“No. You finally PISSED ME OFF!!” Yammi roared. He grinned nearly wide enough to split his head in two. “ _Buchikirero, ira!_ ”

* * *

Yumichika heard a scream and a wet thump just before the next cero blast took him in the side. _Not_ the side with the broken ribs, but it was no mercy - the burn went deep into the muscles of his chest, and lifting his sword arm was now an agony. Ruri’iro Kujaku thrummed in his hand, begging to be released, begging to be allowed to fix this…

Ulquiorra walked towards him, picking his way through the rubble their fight had created. His clothing was torn and tattered, but beyond a trickle of blood from a swollen nose and a little stiffness, there was no sign of injury. “Your freedom signifies that the Tres Espada is no more.”

He could have been stating that shiburi-dyed yukata were coming back into fashion for all the care that was in his voice.

Yumichika shrugged to show he didn’t care, and his vision went white with pain. Oh, yes. Things were broken, deeply and badly. Only adrenaline and pride kept him upright. 

“I was only biding my time until Harribel dropped her guard,” he said. “You know how it is.”

Where was Lisa? The scream must have been hers… He didn’t dare look around, though. Ruri’iro’s demands to be released had escalated to piercing shrieks, nearly drowning out the roar and rumble of Ikkaku’s fight.

“You would have needed superior numbers to defeat her,” Ulquiorra mused. He was close enough that if he raised his hand, a single flash step was all it would take to drive it through Yumichika’s heart. The Espada cast a glance to the side, where his giant friend (and had he started out quite so large?) rolled to his feet with an angry shout. “Numbers you do not possess now.”

Yumichika knew from Hoshibana’s report that Ulquiorra and Yammi had not stumbled upon them by accident. How much did they know? And did that even matter, now? Ulquiorra had obviously come to the only conclusion that he thought was important - even at three against two odds, Yumichika and his friends were clearly outnumbered.

The only problem with that - and Yumichika would have laughed if he dared spare the breath - was that odds meant nothing to the Eleventh Division, and they meant even less now. All he and Ikkaku and Lisa had to do was slow the two Espada down long enough for the others to prevail against Aizen. And if they had themselves a good fight in the meantime?

Well, there wasn’t anything more they could ask, was there?

He heard the clatter of gravel and a snarled curse from off to his right. Lisa was still alive and still conscious. Good. 

Well, _perhaps_ it was good. Ulquiorra cast her a semi-interested glance, and Yumichika risked looking in the same direction. Lisa had hauled herself half onto a piece of shattered ledge, not putting any weight on her left leg. Her zanpakutou was in its fully released form, one end on the ground, the other cradled in her elbow. She looked like she was about to do something, but then a shockwave of reiatsu knocked her flat on her ass. It did the same to Yumichika, and even Ulquiorra looked nonplussed.

“ _Buchikirero, ira!_ ”

Yammi’s roar rattled them down to their bones.

* * *

_Well, shit_.

Ikkaku had no idea what that “10” tattoo setting itself to “0” meant, but the bastard’s sudden jump in size told him plenty.

“All that does is give me a bigger target to hit, asshole!” He whirled Hoozukimaru over his head, faster and faster until it looked like an unbroken circle of metal. In most cases, giving his all with Hoozukimaru this full would be overkill. This time, he hoped it would be _enough_.

If he lost, then Yammi would get through, and the others would last about as long as an ice cube in August if they had to face him _and_ Aizen. He couldn’t look to the other two for help, not now. He only had a few glimpses of their fight, but he’d seen blood staining Yumi’s mouth and bubbling at his nose. He’d also seen Ulquiorra grab Lisa’s leg during one of those fancy kicks of hers and send her flying. He hoped like hell they could get their act together, and fast.

Slowing these two down wasn’t going to enough - they had to be stopped, and stopped _hard_ , or they were all fucked. Yumi and him _had_ to win this.

No matter what.

No matter how.

He threw his sword and his self at Yammi with everything they both had.

* * *

Yumichika felt red-tinged reiatsu flow over him, a flow as familiar as the coursing of his own blood. He _knew_ Ikkaku’s bankai, and he knew what the prelude to a final blow felt like. Yumichika had no doubt it would take down Yammi, but that would leave Ikkaku with nothing left for Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra would defeat Ikkaku, just as he was about to end Yumichika and Lisa, and his survival could mean the end for the others.

Well, then. There was only one thing to do.

Yumichika raised his hand. It was the one on the broken-rib side - it had just a little more range of motion. “Pardon me, Ulquiorra-san, but I wish to ask a favor.”

Ulquiorra was puzzled enough to pause, but he did not let down his guard. “Why should I?”

“Clearly, you’re about to kill us, and-”

“My orders are to take you alive.”

Yumichika had no idea what to say to that. He shifted his plan on the fly, hoping that his motives weren’t _too_ transparent. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure his thinking was as clear as it could be. And it was important that his thoughts be clear - clear and carefully guarded..

“Alive? Really? We weren’t given the same orders in your regard, so my apologies for making assumptions.” As he babbled, he circled closer to Lisa in case this next part didn’t work, or in case Ulquiorra ceased being puzzled by his behavior and started being annoyed enough to shut him up. “Well, it’s rather obvious that your orders had nothing to do with keeping us unharmed, and we’re both close to total incapacitation.”

Ulquiorra’s hand glowed green. A fainter green than before, but enough to lay down an infinity of pure _hurt_ when he let the cero fly. “Your assessment is correct. This next blast will drop you.”

“Then take us both at once!” he cried, stumbling to Lisa’s side. He’d have slung an arm around her shoulder if he could.

She was a quick study, though, and grabbed his arm. She also sealed her zanpakutou - good. She knew what was going to happen next.

Yumichika focused on burying that one thought, the essence and key to this whole crazy plan.

“Please! If you have any mercy!” Lisa cried. “We love - ”

Ulquiorra sneered, and lifted his hand.

Just then, Ikkaku’s final blow fell... 

And if Ulquiorra had fired just then, Yumichika and Lisa would have failed as well, but Yammi’s roar and a flare of red reiatsu pulled his attention away. Just for a scant half-second, but it was long enough

Long enough for Ruri’iro Kuujaku’s vines to encircle Ulquiorra. He tried to pull free, and those expressionless eyes finally widened with surprise when he found that he couldn’t. Now if only Lisa understood what had to be done next. She was smart enough to understand what Yumichika knew Ikkaku would not have.

The vine began to bear fruit, and a cold, astringent power flowed into him. His ribs snapped back into place, and he felt the peculiar and unforgettable _itch_ of burnt flesh sloughing, regrowing, and reknitting. It was cold enough to numb everything but the despair when he realized that the roar he heard was a roar of triumph. Ulquiorra’s strength flowed into him, and it might be enough to defeat Yammi, but he heard the scatter of gravel as Lisa took a desperate flash-step towards them.

He tried to fight the cold logic that told him to turn and end her, no matter Aizen-sama’s orders, but Yumichika’s control cracked, as did the shield he had put across his own thoughts. Of course, the instant Ulquiorra saw the crack, he went for it - the arrogance of these shinigami, thinking they could outfight _and_ outsmart Aizen-sama’s servants. He was able to pluck the panicked, desperate plan from the front of the shinigami’s mind with contemptible ease.

The distant shout of “Fuck you, Yumi, NO!” only confirmed the kernel of knowledge Ulquiorra had plucked from his opponent’s feeble mind - Yumichika had planned to let Lisa kill him and let the backlash take them both. Unfortunately for the two of them, things would not end in that manner.

The shinigami was still draining his powers, but it would only take Ulquiorra a moment to regain complete control. Soon, in mere a matter of seconds if he was any judge, this fool would be in the same situation he was with Harribel. The vines that stole from him had loosened slightly, enough that he could step in the path of the female shinigami. Aizen-sama wanted the traitors taken alive, yes, but a broken back should quiet this one down sufficiently.

He moved to deflect a blow that should have slashed across the other shinigami’s chest only to find it slashing across his own, slicing clean though his weakening hierro.

The last thought that came through as the vines pulled away - pulling the last of his power with them - was a viciously smug _I was always a_ very _good actor._

* * *

Ulquiorra staggered back from her first blow, and Lisa struck again. She brought Tonbo down with a savage yell, half-falling as her leg gave out. The edges of his wound were already turning to dust, but she went for him again, this time with a clumsy blow to the shoulder.

 _None of this should have happened._ The next blow was a clout to the side of his head with the hilt of her zanpakutou. _Not to Shinji, not to Hiyori, not to Kensei…_ She screamed and hit him again. _Not to Love. We didn’t deserve this._ And again.

“Lisa…”

 _And_ I _sure as fuck didn’t deserve this._

“You need to stop.”

Not being turned into a monster because of Aizen’s experiments. Not having to fight for every bit of control over a ravenous hunger that threatened to get away from her every fucking second of every fucking day. Not losing her captain and her division and everything she loved for a hundred fucking years…

“You’re going to break your hand on those rocks, and we still have Yammi to defeat.”

She looked up. Ayasegawa was somehow unwounded beneath the blood smears and tattered clothing. “I’m grateful you knew enough to attack the right person,” he said. “I knew Ikkaku would buy my ‘suicide plan’ idea, but I was hoping you would see through it. I even had to make _myself_ believe it… at least believe it enough that Ulquiorra would see the memory of that conversation and take it at face value.”

“That is one scary shikai you have.” She heard the sound of the other two combatants getting up from the rubble on the other side of the room. This wasn’t over, but if Ayasegawa could drain Yammi just enough for her and Ikkaku to land a final blow… 

Ayasegawa gave a rueful smile and held out his hand to help her up. “Trust me. I know. And I realized that I don’t even understand half of what it does.”

Lisa took his hand gratefully, but then cried out as the firm grip turned to a desperate squeeze that crushed her fingers together.

“Oi! Ayasegawa! What gives?”

Ayasegawa staggered back, and the way his eyes went wide would have been hilarious if she didn’t suspect he was only a second away from spearing his hand through her chest. He collapsed to his knees, nearly pulling her down on top of him.

“I think I may have stumbled across...” he wheezed, “...a few side effects of being tied to a dying Espada twice in quick succession. The healing - ” He pressed the heel of his free hand to his eye as if trying to keep something from bursting out. “I can’t. Think. Too much… it’s too much…”

Yammi’s roar echoed through the room, and there was a crack like thunder as he crashed his fist into the palm of his other hand. He looked battered and exhausted, but Madarame looked utterly trashed, and could barely keep his footing.

 _Too much,_ Lisa thought, _but still not enough_.

* * *

Hoozukimaru was still in one piece. That was the good news. The bad news was that there was only a flicker of red in the dragon’s tail and Yammi looked as pissed off as he looked hurt. One more blow coulda taken the asshole down, if Ikkaku had anything left in him.

But he didn’t, and that was that.

He was well and truly fucked, and not in the fun way. So much for that afterparty they’d been planning.

Yammi was going on about the usual, Ikkaku was trash, Yammi was the compactor, blah, blah, blah, but he looked wobbly on his pins. Nowhere near as wobbly as Ikkaku, but...

Things were awfully quiet from the other side of the room, and Ikkaku knew he had to risk a look. Not much scared him, but glancing a few degrees to his right just then terrified him like nothing else he could remember. There’d been times he thought Yumi was going to end a fight as a corpse, but this was different. All those other times, Yumi would have died as himself.

But Yumi wasn’t dead. He wasn’t standing, but he wasn’t dead.

“Meet your end, shinigami trash!”

Ikkaku scooted back out of the way of Yammi’s fist and over to the others. 

“I never saw anyone shunpo on their butt before,” Lisa said.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re a real laugh and a half, lady. The creepy Espada’s dead?”

Lisa nodded, then flicked her hand in what Ikkaku recognized as a kidou seal. It didn’t fire anything impressive or Espada-frying, but whatever it did had Yammi hurl a boulder at something a good twenty feet to their left. “A spoken spell will pack more of a wallop, but I need time. Can you do that?”

Ikkaku looked at Yumi, hoping like hell it was still Yumi in there. The unspoken question was answered by a roll of still-familiar eyes, but Ikkaku knew it had been close. Yumi looked healthy enough - not a damn scratch on him - but something was wrong. Very wrong. He was huddled up on himself and gritting his teeth as if trying to hold himself together or brace against something that hurt too much. And when he blinked, Ikkaku saw blood pooling at the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” he rasped. It wasn’t their way to use shit like that in a fight, but they had no choice. _Maybe,_ a loopy, nearly hysterical part of him thought, _it’ll piss taichou off so much that he’ll come back from the dead to kick our asses and then Yammi’s._ “I’ll buy you time. Yumi, what the fuck happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said breezily, and fuck, it was just like one of those schemes from back in the day that would earn them a bunch of money and a bunch of pissed-off villagers on their tail. But then Yumi grabbed his wrist. “Go. Fight. I’ll fight with you as best you can, but I do hope you’ll forgive me for it.”

“Huh? What does - ”

“It means I’ll be with you. Trust me. Go!”

He went, Ryuumon Hoozikumaru’s center blade creaking in protest as it rose up behind him to follow. He maybe had the strength to get in one more blow, but his zanpakutou would shatter. He wondered how much of his own strength he could feed it before it caused him to stumble. He ran towards his prey, not bothering to spare the strength for one last battle cry.

Behind him he heard the start of an incantation.

“Hado sixty-nine, Silver Twist! You one who is two, bend thy will to the light and thine eyes to thine other self...”

Then, rising above that, a pain-wracked but joyful shout that he would have known anywhere..

“Bloom, Ruri’iro Kuujaku!”

So that was why Yumi asked for forgiveness. Fuck that. There was no way Yumi could take on Yammi without losing himself, not in the shape he was in.

But then…

Then Lisa screamed out one last word and two bursts of pure white flame curved around from behind him and circled around the charging Espada, knocking him back and penning him in.

And _then_...

Then something happened that was the most goddamn glorious beautiful thing he’d ever seen or heard or felt in his life. 

Vines of glowing green and blue snaked up alongside him, but instead of rushing past Ikkaku to the trapped Espada, they kept pace and then encircled him. Instead of choking him as they had the last time, they went _with_ him, pushing more than pulling, and he heard a familiar titter of laughter.

_Yumi?_

The knowledge came to him in a rush of images rather than words, but he thought he could hear Yumi’s sardonic and fucking patronizing tones explaining it all. The knowledge that Yumi could _push_ power as well as pull it away. The pain of a body that had fed on too much energy to heal too many wounds, and the pain of turning that power into something that would heal and not corrupt… The unsealable fractures in a mind that had to hold on to a deception for too long in the face of cold strength and logic.

 _Draining Yammi would have destroyed me. No, draining Ulquiorra_ did _destroy me. But this way, I can fight_ with _you._

Ikkaku felt the hope and the fear in that one clear phrase, and right then, forgiveness meant jack.

 _Yes,_ he thought, hoping Yumi could hear it. _We’ll take this asshole down together._

And with that, he felt a rush of bloodthirsty joy and a strength that was not his own but that felt every bit as familiar.

He leapt up into the air, and as he came down, released everything he could into his zanpakutou as they hurtled down toward the swirling light.

Ryuumon Hoozukimaru filled up to the brim and beyond, red and peacock blue spilling out of the dragon crest like blood and water.

Ikkaku could have sworn he felt other hands over his as they brought the final blow home.

“This one’s for you, _taichou_!” He wasn’t sure which of them said it, but that was okay.

The release of reiatsu tore through the room like a supernova, blasting through everything in its path. Stone. Sword. Espada.

Shinigami.

* * *

_So, where to next, Yumichika?_

_Well, you know what they say. “Whither thou goest…_

_...I’ll be right there with you, kickin’ ass, and kickin’ some more ass.”_

_I couldn’t have said it better myself, Ikkaku._

* * *

Her knee was a flaming ball of squishy pain and her chest felt like it had just been flushed out with battery acid. The final shout to release her kidou had taken too much out of her, maybe even permanently. Getting to her feet unassisted just wasn’t going to happen. Fortunately, Lisa had a sturdy prop ready to hand.

“Sorry about this, Tonbo.”

Coughing and swearing, Lisa hauled herself upright. That last blast felt like it should have taken out the entire universe and five neighboring ones along with it. She shifted her weight, and pain brought a shiver of nausea. She waited a moment, willing the ‘I’m-about-to-barf’ salivation to subside, then looked up and around. If there were any enemy combatants left, she was so, so screwed, but if the relative silence and clouds of reiatsu-charged dust were any indication, Yammi and Ulquiorra were now nothing but a couple of very bad memories.

“Guys?” She waited. Nothing. She held her breath, straining to hear even the slightest groan or curse. Tonbo didn’t protest as she hobbled forward. Far from it — she got the distinct feeling he would have turned himself into a sedan chair on her behalf if he could.

She staggered down the slope towards where her part of the fight had been. Broken stonework and shifting dust made the footing treacherous enough that she was tempted to just slide down on her butt despite the risk of multiple lacerations.

“You know what makes this so much worse? The fact that I’m breathing in leftover Ulquiorra-parts.” No one responded, and certainty set in like a February chill that no one was going to respond.

She found Ayasegawa first, right where she had last seen him.

“Aw, no…”

He had landed curled up on his side, back facing her. His zanpakutou was still in his hand, but back to a single, straight blade. The ground beneath him was scorched black and had a glassy shimmer to it. The same black graced the tip of Ayasegawa’s blade. She couldn’t spare the energy to kneel to check for a pulse, but it was evident that she wouldn’t find one. The fall of his robe over his body showed that much - too much - had been taken from him during that last stunt of his, and the hair that fluttered prettily (of course) in the light breeze was a stark and exquisite white.

She staggered past without looking any further, picturing the face that in repose would have been a still and flawless marble beauty. Reality or not, that was how she would remember his body, dammit. She owed Ayasegawa that much.

She found Madarame’s zanpakutou before she found Madarame himself. It had returned to its sealed form before shattering. The hilt presented itself first, broken end pointing the way to the middle portion of the blade, which in turn pointed her towards the tip.

That pointed her to a boulder that she otherwise would have walked past on her initial search.

Madarame had landed against the far side of the boulder in a position eerily similar to Ayasegawa’s, but facing towards her rather than away. Instead of being discreetly veiled, all of the blood and burns were right there in front of her. There wasn’t much to see _beyond_ blood and burns, but she could have sworn his mouth was twisted into that feral smile of his.

“That’s probably just how you pictured yourself going out, you bald bastard,” she said affectionately.

Lisa and Tonbo stood there for a good long time, not sure of what to do next. Through the pain in her leg and her chest, she could feel the flares and sparks of a not-too-distant fight. There was no way to tell how it was going or who was winning.

Chances were, she wouldn’t be any good to anyone in the state she was in, but her captain was there, and Nanao-chan was there. There was no other choice but to stagger on to the next fight.

She nodded farewell to Madarame. Then, a few minutes later, another silent goodbye as her slow exodus took her past Ayasegawa again.

“Sorry we won’t get that date,” she called back to them, and she truly was sorry. “I’ll still go out on the town, though, and knock back a few drinks in your honor.”

They’d gone out in one hell of a fight, they’d gone out winning, and they’d gone out together. It was everything the two of them ever would have wanted. Lisa was happy for them, really she was, but it was hard not to keep tripping up over the fact that they were _gone_.


	50. Ensemble: Broken Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is safe.

As far as Grimmjow was concerned, this latest event was just one more cherry on top of the turd that the mission had turned into. So the Big Secret Weapon had failed to kill Aizen or even slow him down. So Aizen was about to screw over Kurosaki and the Inoue girl and _nobody_ would have a clue where he was. So that Kyouraku guy (who had, to be fair, looked like he might have a clue about things and have been a good enough fighter for Grimmjow to want a brawl with him) was down and out of it.  
  
Big fucking deal. The thing that kept him his happy cheerful self under all circumstances, even ones like this, was that he’d never expected, never _wanted_ anything except a good fight. Up shit creek without a paddle was where he lived. At least he was honest about it.  
  
 _Honest?_ Pantera whispered. _Maybe that was the case when you didn’t have a heart._  
  
 _You think I care about this lot?_  
  
 _I’m saying that we have a choice. And one choice is going back to being a Hollow again._  
  
The idea appealed. Things were simpler like that. Much simpler. He’d know to stay out of Aizen’s way this time. There would be the cold wastes, and the souls to be devoured, and the moon above him, and maybe in time he would find another group of followers, and . . .  
  
 _And the other choice,_ Pantera said with a casual unconcern, _isn’t._  
  
The sun rising over Seireitei. Smacking the shit out of one after another smart-mouthed moron from Eleventh. Hot soup burning his mouth. Madarame’s eyes as they faced off to spar. The Shiba woman knocking him down. The shinigami listening to him like his opinion meant something. Even the ones who didn’t like him, like the healer-mouse or Ise, trusting their backs to him in a fight. Kurosaki. Time to grow strong again, maybe even grow _stronger_. People who were his to protect, whether or not he liked them, because he claimed them as his own to protect, and because maybe part of being stronger was being able to _choose_ when you fought and how you fought and _why_ you fought.  
  
Hisagi laughed beside him, the sound spilling from his mouth like craziness, and jumped at emptiness. His two scythes swung out, the chain between them swirling like a living thing, and as it moved –  
  
Shit. The way it looked, Grimmjow’s imagination could fill in the outline of a form, of a man temporarily hampered by it who hadn’t yet gathered the moment’s power that it would take to turn Hisagi into a smear on the wall. He could see where Aizen had to be. Where Aizen’s _arm_ had to be.  
  
 _Fuck if I’m going to miss out on this._ “Grind, Pantera!” he screamed, and pounced across the intervening space, swinging the blade up high.  
  
And it changed in his hand. The hilt shifted in his grip, heavier than it had been, its wood stained dark with sweat and infinitely comfortable to his hand. The blade was shorter than its previous katana length, smooth sleek steel with a curve to its belly. Without even thinking about it, he shifted his posture mid-leap to bring the blade down at its sharpest point.  
  
On Aizen’s wrist.  
  
The blade bit in. He might not be able to see Aizen, but he felt the meaty firmness of flesh as Pantera carved into it, and the hard impact of bone against the steel. Now he knew where the bastard was, and he had a weapon, and he would even tolerate Hisagi keeping Aizen tangled up in his chains while he carved Aizen’s guts out, and –  
  
Oh. Yes. There had been a plan.  
  
The thought hung in his mind, something new and fascinating and untried. There had been a plan. He was going to get Aizen’s zanpakutou so that the Inoue girl could blow it to scrap, and then they were _all_ going to carve Aizen’s guts out.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, this was one of those very rare times when it was less important to fight a man, and more important to dispose of a piece of shit so thoroughly that it never even had a chance to fight back.  
  
He reached with his left hand to where Aizen’s hand should be, and whether it was real or an illusion he didn’t know, but he could feel fingers and a sword hilt, and blood hot and sticky against his skin.  
  
“You’ve got it!” the Inoue girl screamed.  
  
So either Aizen was fucking with his head to make him _think_ he had the sword, and he was adding in the screams too, or he’d got the sword and Aizen was currently too busy to fuck with their heads.   
  
A bolt of power that tasted of Kurosaki’s reiatsu ripped past him, as violent as a Cero, and impacted with the general area that Hisagi was trying to keep busy. Hisagi went down.  
  
 _I think it’s real,_ Pantera said. _Let’s do this._  
  
With a roar Grimmjow yanked at the zanpakutou hilt, forcing Pantera’s blade further down into Aizen’s wrist at the same time, grinding the blade against the bones.   
  
And the hilt came free.  
  
He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t feel it, now; his left hand seemed to be closed on nothing, on a handful of air. A blast of reiatsu drove at him in a wave of blue fire, and he threw himself backwards in a dodging swerve that he wasn’t sure he’d ever bettered before, a fraction of a moment ahead of the leading edge of the flames. Before his next pulse beat, he was back next to the Inoue girl, thrusting the blade at her hilt first. She caught it with one hand – or at least, she seemed to grab something, her arm bending under its weight, extending the other hand in front of her as a shield of pale light sprang up round them.   
  
It dented under the impact of another wave of flame, but it held.  
  
“Let me out,” Grimmjow snarled. “You do your thing, let me do mine.”  
  
“If I open it, he might get in.” She dropped to her knees, still holding onto what Grimmjow could only hope was the real blade and not some sort of illusionary joke being played on them all. _How the fucker would laugh . . ._ “Please wait just a little longer, Grimmjow-san – I healed you. I can fix this.”

* * *

_I can fix this_ , Orihime repeated to herself. _I’m not just saying this to convince myself. I really can fix this!_  
  
The sword in front of her eyed her steelily, in a metaphorical sort of way, silent amid the noise and blasts of power. It was easy to imagine it as a representation of Aizen, except of course Aizen would be taller and look at her in a more withering, undercutting sort of way, so superior and utterly beyond her that he didn’t even need to prove it, and Aizen wouldn’t be made of metal, he’d just _feel_ as if he was made of metal, or possibly marble.  
  
She swallowed. She wished that she was wearing something other than white. Only dead people and Arrancar wore white.  
  
Power roared against her shield. She forced it back.   
  
_Don’t worry, Mistress,_ Lily said calmly at one corner of the shield. _We’ve got this one._  
  
 _Just imagine that you’ve got Yoruichi-san sitting on your shoulder and telling you what to do,_ Baigon said helpfully at another corner.  
  
 _Yes, she’d tell you to hurry up,_ Hinagiku pointed out at the third corner.  
  
“I know she would,” Orihime muttered to herself. Really, it would be so much easier if Yoruichi-san was here. Yoruichi-san would be able to tell her what the most appropriate thing to do in this situation would be. Should she be healing this sword? Or destroying it?  
  
 _That is one of the three most stupid questions I have ever heard,_ Tsubaki said from directly above her head. _All of which, by the way, came from you. Destroy it, of course._  
  
“Who’re you talking to?” Grimmjow snarled.  
  
“Nobody,” Orihime lied. She stared at the sword, trying to think how to approach it. Well, of course she could just blast at it, but that would be breaking it, wouldn’t it? Not rejecting it. What she needed to do was _unmake_ it. But how did you unmake things?  
  
 _Blasting it would be a fine start,_ Tsubaki snapped.  
  
Somewhere inside, fundamentally deep, Orihime disagreed. Blasting it was what everyone was doing at the moment. Aizen fought them and so they fought him and that made a dead Aizen or a dead them, and however much she rejected it all, none of it stopped it happening. She let herself be taken as a hostage and still it didn’t stop it happening. She tried to protect people and still it didn’t stop it happening. None of it would stop happening until she found a way that would really stop it –  
  
 _Yes, destroy it!_ Tsubaki screamed.  
  
 _I can’t see any way to heal it,_ Shun’ou pointed out calmly. _You did heal Grimmjow, because you restored him from his Hollow state. You can’t heal Aizen that way, because he’s not a Hollow. It’s not your fault if there’s nothing there to heal._  
  
Ayame hid inside her shell of clothing, but Orihime knew that she was shaking her head. She didn’t know if that meant that no, they couldn’t heal it, or no, they were wrong in thinking of it in terms of healing.  
  
 _I want to save my friends. I want to save myself._ She had to be honest. This was all about Aizen’s illusions. She needed all her strength to reject it. She couldn’t let herself lie to herself about anything now. _I want none of this to ever have happened. I want to be with Tatsuki and with the others again. I want Kurosaki-kun to be happy. I want nobody to have to die because of me. I want him to stop this._  
  
She looked up from the sword. Aizen was standing in front of her shields, his face like thunder, his eyes implacable, his right hand scarlet from the wrist to the fingers, and she knew that to him she was nothing more than a grain of dust, as fragile as one of Soul Society’s butterflies. He would care about killing her as much as it mattered to _him_ , to make a point or achieve an end or simply assuage his temper, but she herself was totally unimportant, it had nothing to do with her personally, and she wasn’t even as much as an illusion to him, she was nothing, nothing at all.   
  
Kurosaki-kun was there as well, his blade raised to defend her, his back to her, blood running down his arm and shoulder, the white pearl of his bone mask cupping over his face once more.  
  
 _I want to break Aizen’s illusions. I want to save Kurosaki-kun from fighting them and having to become the worst of himself. I want to save myself. I want to save us all._  
  
All illusions, all of them: the bone and crystal of Las Noches that Aizen had raised, the complete hypnosis of his sword, the madness that haunted Kurosaki-kun and the Vizards, the white that draped her, everything around her. She could not listen to any other voices, even the Shun Shun Rikka, because they were part of her, and now they all needed to say the same thing in unison, to truly mean it.   
  
She didn’t understand what she was doing. That was quite all right, as Tatsuki would have told her. She just needed to do it.  
  
She looked down at Kyouka Suigetsu in her hands, but her awareness was wider than that. The sword was Aizen in front of her, and it was the whole of Las Noches, and it was everything that was keeping them here now and killing each other.  
  
She would no longer accept it.  
  
The Shun Shun Rikka spun around her, demanding her intention.  
  
 _I am not retreating from this. I will not defend myself with daydreams or by withdrawal. I perceive what it is, and I accept it, and I do not need to shield myself from it because **it does not exist**._  
  
Baigon, Hinagiku, and Lily hung in the air with the grace of supreme gymnasts, flaring as bright as miniature stars. They were a structure that she could build on and go forward. The thoughts came to her one after another, a bridge over emptiness, over the darkness, to the end that she desired.  
  
 _I am not healing this. I would heal Kurosaki-kun and Grimmjow-san and all the others, but this is not something which I can heal. I heal real things. This is an illusion and **it does not exist**._  
  
Shun’ou and Ayame spun into place, burning above her head in twin suns, their clear light casting Kyouka Suigetsu’s shadow onto her white robes and across the floor.  
  
 _I am not attacking this. I would attack Aizen. Aizen is real. I hate him, and it’s wrong of me to hate him, but I can’t change that, any more than I can change that I love Kurosaki-kun, but both of them are real. To attack illusions only gives the illusions more power over you. Therefore I am not attacking this illusion, and I will not attack this illusion, because when you know that something is an illusion, then you do not **need** to attack the illusion, and **it does not exist**._  
  
Tsubaki elongated into a brilliant blade of light, falling towards the blade in her hands, like a comet coming down from the skies, as fast as the speed of light (or would it be sound so that she could hear it?) but so slowly that she could see each movement of his body.   
  
“I reject!” she declared.  
  
The other Shun Shun Rikka flashed to join Tsubaki, the six of them becoming a single flaming spear which buried itself in the heart of the zanpakutou.  
  
Was there a scream? No, there couldn’t have been a scream, because there could only have been a scream if something real had been there to scream, and there was nothing in her hands now, nothing at all.  
  
Silence like a physical presence trembled in the air around her, breaking outward like a wave, spreading through the room, making her shake with a sudden and absolute weakness.  
  
Aizen’s hand came down towards her. There should have been something in the way. There was nothing. No shield, no healing, no blade. The Shun Shun Rikka weren’t there any longer. There was a deep flutter somewhere inside her, a certainty within her heart, but now there was nothing to stop him . . .  
  
Grimmjow was tumbling her sideways, carrying her in one arm. Her dress was torn at the shoulder and sleeve, a thin trickle of blood running down her breasts, and Kurosaki-kun was striking at Aizen again. “Good job, woman,” Grimmjow growled in her ear. “Now it’s time to take out the trash.”

* * *

Byakuya dropped Ise Nanao next to Hanatarou, setting her down with as much gentleness as the battle gave him time for. It was obvious that she wouldn’t have the strength to restore the bankai, which was a pity. There was no point trying to get her further away: if Aizen won, then nowhere in any world would be safe.   
  
But now they could see Aizen. The traitor’s blade was gone. He didn’t know how it had been done, but the fact that Aizen had just tried to put his hand through Inoue Orihime’s chest suggested that she was involved.   
  
There was no time for hesitation. He gestured, and Senbonzakura’s blades lashed out at Aizen like a whip, scything across the empty space between them.   
  
To one side, Kurosaki howled, the substance across his face rippling like fluid. He lifted his black zanpakutou to dash in again.  
  
Aizen turned. Blood gloved his right hand in scarlet and streaked his white robes. His face was still as impassive and smiling as always, but this time there was something a little off about it, like an imitation of a classical style which was flawed to the expert eye.   
  
Hisagi made another run at Aizen, scythes swinging in great heavy loops and shrieking as they cut through the air. Aizen stepped into it, moving faster than the blades, and caught the man by his throat, tossing him back through the air and against the wall with a motion that had kidou behind it. Then he turned towards Kurosaki as the boy came charging at him. “Black Coffin,” he said, and gestured.  
  
The air shimmered darkly and folded itself closed around Kurosaki with a great shudder, cutting off the boy’s voice mid-shout. The kidou’s spears began to form, sliding into the huge black box in a dreadful silence.  
  
“Now you, Kuchiki Byakuya,” Aizen said.   
  
It was the voice that went with captivity, with stinking imprisonment, with starving hunger, with humiliation, with Rukia’s death. With _his sister Rukia’s murder_.   
  
There was only one reply to that.   
  
“Senkei,” Byakuya said. He dug his nails into his left hand, bringing fresh blood from old grazes. “Senbonzakura Kageyoshi.”   
  
The words came from him as coldly as if he had been criticising calligraphy _(Rukia)_ or commenting on clothing _(Rukia)_ , but he had no need to shout. He would let his blade speak for him. He had always known that it would come down to this, whatever the others had planned. He would face Aizen, and Aizen would die.  
  
The blades of his shikai swelled into full swords, and swung into position around the two of them, hanging in the air like promises. Some of them glided down to Byakuya’s hand, responding to his unspoken call. He closed his grip around the hilt.   
  
“You act as if I have never seen you do that before,” Aizen said. He wasn’t moving to defend himself, and for a moment Byakuya was worried that this was just another illusion.   
  
He shrugged. “Were this a duel, I would see to it that you had a sword. But it is not a duel. It is an execution.”  
  
Aizen shook his head pityingly, and without a word simply pointed his index finger at Byakuya. Light sprang out at him, flashing into the Rikujokoro kidou at the same moment as Byakuya sent his blades slashing through the air at Aizen. He sprang to the right, skimming across the floor in an attempt to avoid the kidou, and saw Aizen moving at the same time, as though they were engaged in a complicated dance. He saw the blades cut Aizen. He saw blood drawn.  
  
Then the rods of light slammed into position around him, locking around his waist and holding him frozen in mid-air. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to move to control his blades. His will sent them at Aizen again, and this time it would not simply be a matter of blood, this time it would be to the heart...  
  
Except that he couldn’t see Aizen any more.  
  
“Tell me, Kuchiki Byakuya,” that familiar voice said from behind him, “are you willing to throw your blades at yourself in the hope of killing me?”  
  
Byakuya’s heart was as cold as ice. If that was the only way to destroy the traitor –  
  
 _You promised to live,_ Senbonzakura whispered, the zanpakutou’s voice the sound of falling cherry blossoms. _You promised to live._  
  
 _But I cannot let him survive!_ he screamed inside his mind, struggling with the kidou that held him in position.  
  
 _You have forgotten what you should have remembered,_ Senbonzakura answered. _You are not alone._  
  
But Kurosaki Ichigo was trapped, and Kyouraku and Hisagi were down, and neither Ise nor Hanatarou had the strength to stop Aizen, and the Arrancar Grimmjow was too far away, and Inoue Orihime was no warrior...  
  
“Apparently not,” Aizen said, and Byakuya felt a cold hand touch the back of his neck. “Well, then –“  
  
The blast of red flame behind him singed Byakuya’s back and burned the ends of his hair, but it broke the kidou’s hold and knocked Aizen away.   
  
He turned to see Renji crouched by his feet, his ragged clothing in shreds, and his mouth open unnaturally wide. Fire dripped from his mouth in long tendrils which flared to nothingness before they touched the ground, and his long claws etched grooves in the floor, but his eyes were human, and they looked up at Byakuya in reproach.  
  
An apology to his vice-captain would have been a waste of time. Instead he stepped forward to cut at Aizen, blades coming down in a sweep of steel, as Renji roared flame at the traitor once more.

* * *

“That was odd,” Ise Nanao said. She was having to lean against Hanatarou to stay upright, and blood ran from the corners of her closed eyes all the way down her face, but she clung to Suzumushi as a drowning man holds onto the rope thrown to him. “That was very odd.”  
  
“What was?” Hanatarou said, confused. “Ise-fukutaichou, if I can get you over to the corner, then I can try to reach Kyouraku-taichou –“  
  
“Rikujokoro,” Ise-fukutaichou said. “Why did he use that? Why not Kin or Sajo Sabaku or even Kuyo Shibari? They’d be more efficient. Kuchiki-taichou would have less chance of breaking out of them.” Her eyes might be closed, but her face had the expression of acute concentration that Hanatarou had seen when she’d been unpicking Aizen’s locks earlier.  
  
Hanatarou frowned. He didn’t know the high-level sealing kidou well, and he’d need to use the whole incantation to even have a chance of them working, but what Ise-fukutaichou was saying made sense. “But he just used the Black Coffin on Kurosaki Ichigo –“  
  
“Nothing less than that would have _held_ Kurosaki Ichigo,” Ise-fukutaichou snapped. “And look at him now. He’s defending. He’s dodging. _Why?_ ”  
  
“He wants them alive?” Hanatarou suggested. The thought made him sick. But then he frowned. “No, wait, Ise-fukutaichou. His breathing’s off. He wasn’t like this before when he visited us as prisoners – though he wasn’t exerting himself then, so I don’t know, but... Something’s wrong with him.“  
  
Ise-fukutaichou smiled thinly. “I think you’re right. Well then.” She took a deep breath, and raised her voice, and her shriek carried over the crashing of flame and steel against kidou. “Grimmjow! Over here, _now_!”  
  
The Arrancar appeared at their side, his blade naked in his hand. It had changed shape, Hanatarou noticed with the casual awareness of terror. It had a wider blade and a longer hilt. “Yeah? Got an idea?”  
  
“Aizen’s more injured than he’s willing to show,” Ise-fukutaichou said curtly. “Not just what you did to his wrist, but something more serious. He’s on the defensive.”  
  
Grimmjow’s lips drew back in a snarl, and he wetted his teeth with his tongue. “So what’s wrong with that?”  
  
“We wear him down,” Ise-fukutaichou said. She firmed her shoulders, pushing away from Hanatarou and forcing herself upright. “Don’t go for any killing blows unless you’re sure it’s certain. Just keep him moving, make him use up his strength, waste his breath.” She looked around. “Where’s Inoue Orihime –“  
  
“I dumped her round the corner,” Grimmjow growled. “She’s out of it for the moment. You think this is how to play it?”  
  
Ise-fukutaichou jerked her head in a nod. “Basic strategy. When your enemy’s stronger, you wear him down.” She didn’t seem to realise that she was repeating herself. “Hanatarou, you’re with me: we’ll strike with kidou. Grimmjow...”  
  
“Don’t need to tell me how to do _this_ , woman,” Grimmjow said. He licked his teeth again, then leapt towards Aizen’s back. 

* * *

The spears sliced through the darkness like black lightning, bearing down on Ichigo as he hung there. It wasn’t like being in the nothingness that Nanao had invoked. That had been a true nothingness – no sight, no vision, no hearing, nothing. This was just darkness, and even though he couldn’t have exactly described the difference between darkness and nothingness, he could perfectly well _see_ the spears cutting towards him. It was only his reiatsu that held them off. And with every passing moment he could feel them testing it, probing at it, driving further in.  
  
He had to get out. Aizen was out there. _Inoue_ was out there. This had to stop eventually, didn’t it?   
  
Or, the thought stole into his mind, had Aizen already done the illusion thing to him? Was he just standing in the middle of the floor clinging to his zanpakutou along with everyone else while Aizen just strolled around and killed them when they couldn’t even see him...  
  
No. No, that had to be wrong, because he was sure someone had _said_ that Aizen had to do his zanpakutou thing first before he did his illusions, and he’d been starting to do it, but Hisagi and Grimmjow had got in the way. So this _was_ some sort of kidou. He just had to break it and get out.  
  
 _Easily enough done,_ the voice spoke in his head. It was his mask, his Hollow, his other self, and he could feel it rising through him in a comforting swell of fury. _First we smash it. Then we smash **him**._  
  
 _And then you take control again, like you’ve been doing for the last few months?_ Ichigo demanded.  
  
The darkness rippled and peeled back, and once again he was standing in his interior world, in a landscape of perpendicular buildings and constant rain. His Hollow faced him from a spur of office block which jutted out from the side of the world like a broken branch.  
  
“Don’t blame me if you don’t like what you see,” his Hollow jeered. “Were you objecting when I killed Zaraki for you?”  
  
“Yes!” Ichigo snarled. “I wanted to stop him. I didn’t want to _kill_ him!”  
  
“Easy to say so.” The Hollow tossed Zangetsu between his hands. “Face it, ‘King’, this isn’t playing patty-cake with Chad any more. If you pick up a sword, what do you think is going to happen? The only reason I was in charge is because you _put_ me in charge, because you didn’t want to fucking think about what happened! What you let happen! What you _made_ happen!”  
  
“Shut up!” Ichigo felt his hands sweating as he gripped Zangetsu. He needed control. He needed the firmness that the Vizards had beaten into him. But he couldn’t look the Hollow in the eyes and tell him that he was lying.  
  
“There’s no Inoue-kun to save you here,” the Hollow sneered. “Just let me take charge now and spare us both the trouble. You weren’t objecting a few minutes ago.”  
  
“That was us both fighting together,” Ichigo argued. “Besides, you weren’t trying to fight Aizen for the last few months.” The thought of them made him boil with a new anger, one directed at himself just as much as at his smirking white reflection. “You just fucking left them there! Chad and Inoue and Ishida and everyone! You didn’t fucking protect them!”  
  
“I don’t _do_ protection,” the Hollow said, and his eyes were as yellow as a wolf’s, yellow as any other Hollow that Ichigo had purified and sent on before.  
  
“Yeah, well, fuck you,” Ichigo said. Making sense of it cleared his head and helped him focus on who he should be angry at, right here, right now. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I _do_.”   
  
“Ri-ight,” the Hollow singsonged.  
  
“And you know something?” Ichigo reached behind him and shoved Zangetsu into its scabbard. “You’re next.”  
  
The Hollow hefted Zangetsu. “Come on if you think you can.”  
  
“No,” Ichigo said. He felt his lips peel back from his teeth as he grinned. “I mean I’m going to protect you too, jerk.”  
  
The Hollow looked at him slackjawed. “Say what?”  
  
“I mean,” Ichigo clarified, “Aizen’s had you as a prisoner for what, months now? Sounds like you were messed with, just like Chad and Ishida and Inoue. Guess I should apologise to you for that.” He took a step forward. ”I ought to be looking out for you. You ought to be looking out for me. You may not know that, but I should. So from now on, hard luck, Jerk. You can relax. I’ve got you.”  
  
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” the Hollow said.   
  
“Don’t get me wrong.” Ichigo gathered his balance, shifted his weight. “This isn’t some sort of shoujo thing. I’m just telling you how it’s going to be. The person in charge _does_ that, right? And then he looks out for the other guys under him. Captains do it. Leaders do it. And if I’m in charge here, then I’m going to do it.”  
  
The Hollow sprang at him. It wasn’t a blast from Zangetsu. It wasn’t a bankai. It was a pure, furious attempt to cut Ichigo in half, to bring the white zanpakutou down so hard that it would leave a groove in the stone after it had gone through Ichigo’s body.   
  
Ichigo raised his hand. He remembered how this had been done. It had been his blade, once. He had brought Zangetsu down, and Aizen had caught it between his fingers, because Aizen had been a mountain of power and next to Aizen he’d just been an ant. And Aizen hadn’t even bled. He hadn’t even flinched. He had simply raised his hand, without even needing to think about it...  
  
“Don’t worry,” he said.  
  
He caught the blade between his fingers and it _stopped_. It hummed through his arm like the vibration of an oncoming train, but it didn’t go any further, and there was no blood. The Hollow stood there straining, face to face with him, animal eyes yellow and face whiter than bone.  
  
“But I’m not going to hug you,” he said. “Just – drop it. I’m in charge now. Leave this one to me. I’ve got you.”  
  
The Hollow glared at him, a seething mass of fury and uncertainty, but for the first moment since that time – it seemed like years ago – when he’d actually fought it to a standstill with the Vizards’ help, Ichigo felt as if he was in control.  
  
No, not _felt_. He _knew_ he had control.  
  
His interior world blurred into a haze of rain and masonry around him, and then he was hanging in the darkness again, straining against the incoming spears. But this time he could feel the steady throb of power from inside, raw but bent to his direction.  
  
He was going to use it.

* * *

_On your feet! Get up on your damned FEET!_  
  
Kazeshini was screaming in Hisagi’s mind loud enough to make his skull ache with the force of it. Hisagi was trying to get up. It would help if he could breathe properly. That last blow from Aizen had broken some ribs.   
  
He braced himself against the broken wall and pushed himself to his feet. The battlefield was a maze of swords and blasts of fire, and while they might have been aimed at Aizen, they weren’t going to miraculously avoid Hisagi if he stepped into the middle of them. He needed a moment to work out what to do.   
  
Kyouraku-taichou still lay puddled in his black clothing on the white floor, blood smeared out in a long streak behind him, but he was low enough to the ground that nothing else had struck him. A black cuboid shimmered in the air where Kurosaki had been. Kuchiki-taichou and Abarai-fukutaichou were keeping Aizen busy, with Grimmjow dodging in and out of the fight to hack at Aizen when he had the chance. Ise-fukutaichou was backed against the wall over to one side together with Hanatarou, her left hand clutching Suzumushi and right hand blazing with kidou, throwing blasts that seemed more directed at keeping Aizen off-balance than actually hitting him. And Aizen didn’t have his sword. He didn’t have his damned Kyouga Suigetsu.  
  
They had a chance. They actually had a chance.  
  
Kazeshini howled delighted agreement through him, like the wind blowing through scrap-iron chimes. Hisagi shook with the force of it, and his hands tightened on the handles of his axes. He tensed himself, waiting for the moment to move, to sweep across and bury his axes in Aizen’s back...  
  
And then the whole world shook. There was no better description for it. Someone nearby had discharged reiatsu on a scale so huge and careless that everyone was thrown off balance. Even Kuchiki-taichou lost his poise and went sprawling. The ceiling cracked across like eggshell, and pieces of it came crashing down. Hisagi was thrown to his knees as if the floor had dropped out under him, and blinked stupidly as the room was filled with lazy dust.  
  
Aizen was the first to move again. He flickered backwards from where Kuchiki-taichou and Abarai Renji and Grimmjow had him surrounding, flash stepping away before they could collect themselves. Blood spattered out from the gash in his right wrist as he raised his hand in a kidou gesture, and as he spoke, a net spun across the floor around them, as red as his blood.  
  
It exploded. They went down.  
  
Aizen turned to sweep his gaze across the rest of the room. His eyes met Hisagi’s for a moment, and Hisagi felt his skin crawl at the gaze. Aizen didn’t have to say anything, but that look promised Hisagi a future of naked pain.  
  
 _It’s not even because I’m fighting him now. He realises that I fooled him. He is never, never going to pardon that._  
  
Almost casually, Aizen turned away from Hisagi, and glanced towards Hanatarou and Ise-fukutaichou. “It seems that I made a mistake in sparing you, Hanatarou Yamada,” he said. “But you may have been forced into this. Beg for pardon, and you will have your life.”  
  
Hanatarou swallowed. Beside him, Ise was murmuring to herself, lips moving, eyes closed, blood streaking her face.   
  
“Now,” Aizen amplified helpfully. Blood from his wrist pattered onto the floor. “If you want your head to remain on its shoulders.”  
  
A very small motion caught Hisagi’s eye, and his heart suddenly thumped in his chest as if it was trying to crack its way out. Kyouraku-taichou’s eyes were open and fixed on Hisagi. He made a very small motion with his left hand, shielded by his body from Aizen’s line of vision where he lay on the floor between them.  
  
It meant... Hisagi snapped back to days at the Academy. A twitch to say _stay where you are_ and another that meant _draw target towards you_.  
  
“You’re wasting your time,” he called across at Aizen before he could lose his nerve. “But you’ve been wasting it for the last few months, haven’t you? I certainly haven’t had anything to report.”  
  
Aizen laughed. His voice should have been its usual mellow, relaxed self, but there was a thread of something else behind it now, a shortness of breath and a vicious edge of anger. “Clearly I have wasted my time with you, Hisagi-kun.”  
  
 _Is this for the first time?_ Hisagi thought. _Or has he been sounding like this for longer than that, and he just made it so that I couldn’t hear it before?_ “And I’ve been wasting mine,” he said. Kazeshini was a roiling fire in his belly, pushing him on. “Yamamoto-soutaichou put me in as a spy when I first faked joining you. Do I really need to tell you why so many things went wrong for you?”  
  
That made Aizen turn towards him. Hisagi felt his palms sweating at the look on Aizen’s face. “Well, then,” Aizen said, “you can count this as partial payment. Detonation override, _authorise_.”   
  
A single small spark jumped from the collar around Hanatarou’s neck and fizzled out. It would have been an anticlimax, except that nothing could break the tension of the reiatsu in the room.  
  
Everyone looked at it. Hanatarou stared down at his chest as if a frog had just jumped out of it, and fanned at the smouldering cloth feverishly, his breath coming in great gasps of shock. Aizen stared at it too, in what looked like sheer disbelief – an expression which Hisagi was not used to seeing on his face.  
  
Ise-fukutaichou spoke a single finishing word, and a pyramidal shield shimmered into existence around her and Hanatarou. It had the look of multiple-layered ice to it, and Hisagi could tell at a glance that it was something above his level: the sort of thing that she’d raised against Harribel, but tougher.   
  
Aizen touched it with a single finger. It hummed like wet glass, and sparks showered through the air. He paused for a moment, seeming to consider, then with the air of a man who will simply see to the main course before the dessert, he turned towards Hisagi again.  
  
Hisagi swallowed. _Any good advice?_ he asked Kazeshini, as he took a step forward.  
  
 _Kill the fucker!_ Kazeshini ranted in his head. He was a boiling stream of lava, a volcanic eruption, a dark firestorm and a blazing hurricane. _Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!_  
  
Hisagi felt himself shaking, as if from a distance, with the effort to remain in place and not hurl himself forward. _Wait,_ he commanded.  
  
 _KILL HIM!_ Kazeshini screamed.  
  
Aizen came towards them in a flash step across the battlefield, faster than Hisagi could ever have managed himself.  
  
But Kyouraku-taichou was faster still. His blade came floating out in a horizontal cut so smooth and graceful that it might have been a dancer’s gesture, broadening and deepening into a full scimitar that sliced heavily into the back of Aizen’s left leg at ankle height.   
  
Hisagi saw Aizen’s mouth open, and another new expression showed itself on the man’s face. Pain.  
  
And Aizen fell to one knee.   
  
His motion carried him forwards for several metres, and Hisagi took advantage of his distraction to dodge sideways along the wall before Aizen could get any closer to him. A thick trail of blood smeared along the ground where Aizen had dragged his foot.  
  
Aizen snarled and gestured behind him. He was a caricature of his usual cool, collected self; bloodstained, hunted, furious, his calm perfection marred. Blue fire came washing from his hand towards Kyouraku-taichou, but it splashed against a sudden wall of shielding from Ise-fukutaichou, and a drift of sakura petals came rushing over it from where Kuchiki-taichou lay, humming towards Aizen in a lethal blizzard that made Aizen raise a kidou shield for himself.  
  
Hisagi dodged forward, his chest screaming at him with every breath he took, every strain he placed on it, and brought Kazeshini’s axes round in a spinning burst against Aizen’s shield. _More, more, we need more..._ Kyouraku-taichou was throwing kidou blasts at Aizen now as well, and Aizen’s shields were glowing like the heart of the sun, but they were still holding, Aizen was still there, and...  
  
The black coffin holding Kurosaki Ichigo burst apart with a concussion that detonated in the air and brought more of the ceiling down.   
  
Kurosaki Ichigo stepped from the tumbling black shards of frozen power, and slid through the air towards Aizen like a blade in motion. His zanpakutou drove forward, and it cut through the shields and into Aizen’s chest, till the point stood out clear behind Aizen’s back.  
  
Aizen coughed, and blood ran from his mouth and down his chest. He reached forward, his stained hands grasping for Kurosaki Ichigo, clawing at the blade that impaled him, and wisps of power flickered from them and boiled away into the air. Kurosaki Ichigo braced himself, both hands on the hilt of his zanpakutou now, an expression of sheer horror and disgust on his face as Aizen struggled, as the blood ran down the zanpakutou and over his hands.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Aizen stopped moving, and his last gurgling breaths rattled and were silent in his throat. The light reflected on his blank eyes like empty mirrors. He hung on Kurosaki Ichigo’s sword like the dead thing that he was.  
  
Kurosaki Ichigo stepped back, and let the body slide from his zanpakutou to collapse on the floor.

* * *

_Revenge, revenge, we are revenged,_ Suzumushi keened in Nanao’s mind as they watched the death. _We are finished, it is revenged, we have had revenge, the shinigami is dead..._  
  
Everything was in greys and blacks now, patterns against darkness. Nanao let her shields fall, and Hanatarou scurried out from behind them to wring his hands, trying to decide who to heal first. The ache in her eyes had gone. She could feel nothing now.  
  
 _Yes,_ she answered. _It is over. You can rest now._  
  
She felt the driving hum in her body. _Revenge..._ She saw, and Suzumushi saw with her, the other shinigami who still lived. They lived. They should all die, they must all die...  
  
 _No._ One last refusal. Her own zanpakutou finally joined its voice with hers, in this most necessary and absolute answer, and she felt the comfort of its support. They had both accepted Suzumushi. Now they must both refuse it. _Rest and sleep._  
  
A whisper at the back of her mind sang, _Revenge?_ but she put it from her, driving it away like any other temptation.   
  
_Duty,_ she answered, and let her hand open. Suzumushi fell with a clatter to the floor.  
  
There were no more patterns, there was nothing except darkness, but she had expected that.


End file.
